


the road to ruin (and we started at the end)

by twelvefeetdeeper



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Teen Titans (Animated Series), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Batfamily (DCU), Depression, Dick Grayson Appreciation, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, Dick Grayson Has ADHD, Dick Grayson Has Issues, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson as Slade Wilson's Apprentice, Dick Grayson is Agent 37, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is Not Adopted, Dick Grayson is Renegade, Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Dick Grayson-centric, Dick Graysons fam learns to appreciate him, Everyone Loves Dick Grayson, Fluff and Angst, Haly's Circus, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, I love dick grayson, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jason learns he's not the only angry one, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multilingual Character, Past Character Death, Past Dick Grayson/Wally West, Protective Damian Wayne, Protective Jason Todd, Protective Siblings, References to Blockbuster, Romani Dick Grayson, Smart Dick Grayson, Spyral, Timeline? Don't know her, references to Spyral, what is canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:47:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24227572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelvefeetdeeper/pseuds/twelvefeetdeeper
Summary: Contrary to what his brothers think, Dick Grayson is not always the cheery person he presents himself as.Or, Dick's brothers learn about his hidden depths through some poorly encrypted files and security footage
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Everyone, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Wally West, Dick Grayson/Wally West, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Comments: 270
Kudos: 1955
Collections: A Collection of Beloved Inserts, Dick Grayson Whump





	1. needle in the hay (lost but in my place)

**Author's Note:**

> Dick Grayson has always been my favorite DCU character, and I really just wanted a fic where his brothers learn that he's not the pushover, dumb jock that they sometimes act like he is.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitter and hurting, Tim tries to drag Bruce out of his brooding, even if it means hacking into some of the most protected files on the Batcomputer. He certainly never expected to find this, years worth of security footage and confidential paperwork, all centered around his oldest brother, currently serving his own self imposed exile. And he never thought about those secrets Dick has kept for so long would be forcibly thrown into the open with this decision alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy, this is my first time posting on here, and I've been sitting on this idea for a while, but I basically wanted for Dick's brothers to learn about the events and people that shaped Dick to be the person he was. Each chapter will probably be them learning something new about him or confronting him on it. Enjoy!

He's sorting through some of Bruce's more encrypted data, motives a mish-mash of pure unadulterated anger at the Bat for lying about Dick's death and a need for a good challenge, when he spots the file, a hidden one simply titled Grayson. Tims not usually one to invade another privacy; excluding his past stalking of the Dynamic Duo, the whole tracking down Bruce to demand Robin's title, and... Fine, Tim may have boundary issues, but in a family like this one, you don't find out anything without privacy invasion.

Bruce is a molotov cocktail of bravado and trauma stored tight within the confines of his Batsuit, out of it.... he's barely a person. Most people are laughter-loving filled to the brim with happiness kinda people, but Bruce keeps all that under lock and key. Tim has seen him let loose and laugh once, not a chuckle or humorful snort, but a belly rumbling straight from the heart, uncontrollable laugh that shook his shoulders and should laughter lines instead of stress lines, and that was over a throw-away joke in a Garfield comic panel. Bruce hasn't let anyone in since his parents died, excluding Dick Grayson of course. Dick's been privy too and involved in a lot of Bruce's shit, and he understands the Bat in a way no one else, save Alfred, can.

Dick's another story altogether. If Bruce's strategy is to bury all his shit so deep no one can tell, then Dick's is too cover it up with his charming smiles and terrible puns. He's always deflecting, worrying about others issues so there's no time to discuss his. It leaves him on a pedestal of sorts though, with no one knowing his troubles, it always seems like he has none. The eldest of the Bat Brood never breaks in front of anyone, never publically let's his anger out, unless he's in his Nightwing spandex, he's sent more people to the hospital on his bad days then anyone else has, excluding Jason's murder rampage of course. Though, no one can set him off like Jason can. Brash and insulting, Jason looses his charisma around the older man, something about Dick's showman smile and ever-adapting personality sets off Jason's bullshit meter pretty quick. Tim has seen the fights, heard the hard truths and sore spots shouted across rooms, every mistake becoming a knife in their arsenal of insults. They're usually fine together, years of working together softening the bitter childhood memories, but Dick's martyr complex and Jason's daddy issues are always the first to clash.

Through the years, Tim has lost most of his hero worship for vigilantes, but Dick has always had this untouchable air to him, the constant older brother who was always reliable, always steady, always there; which is more than any other adult had ever been for Tim. But now, now Tim wasn't even sure he knew who Dick was.

Fuck Bruce, Tim thought bitterly. Fuck Dick too, faking his death was a total dick move, a total Bruce move in fact. Maybe Dick's year in the bat suit left him more like Bruce then they thought.

Rage renewed, he moved faster, working harder at cracking the encryption that locked the file, but the code seemed to be constantly changing, using every failed attempt and reversing it back to strike at Tim's work and making every error another layer of security. The blue light of the bat computer cast an eerie glow on his face, illuminating his squinty eyes, drooping from lack of sleep, and hollowing out his admittedly gaunt face. Pausing, he picked his mug up, a small tugging on his lips as he caught a glimpse of the superman logo. The warmth of the mug breathed life into his aching fingers, as he sipped his tea. Tim's caffeine addiction was mostly myth, he usually drank tea, but the rumored coffee craving fit his tired academic aesthetic too well. Plus, he snorted amused, he found it all hilarious, as if he needed coffee to keep him awake. His insomnia needed no help with that. Less amusingly, he wasn't really supposed to drink too much coffee anyways, mixing caffeine and his pills never worked out too well. 

He took another quick sip, before returning to his hacking. He could've been the Flash for how fast his fingers were flying, course Bruce would've kicked him out of Gotham if that were true. Jesus Christ, Tim thought, what the hell does Bruce have in here that's so important? As he flew through every trick he knew, and he was definitely well versed in the myriad of intricacies that there were. Hacking wasn't usually the way it was portrayed in movies, it was a language in its own right. It was like English, Tim mused, vaguely set rules, and ever-changing with new additions. He liked hacking, enjoyed how he had to improv and thick quickly, something he found a little difficult on the field. Tim's fighting style was fairly technical, almost straight off the pages of a book and he planned things out to an almost pathological degree. Dick on the other hand had a fighting style that was mostly improv. He moved with fluidity and grace, both in and out of the field, always using his acrobatic prowess and agility to his advantage. Jason too was good at that, quick thinking that is, he was surprisingly quiet despite his muscle and bulk, which he often employed, usually to sneak up on his brothers.

Fingers jammed into Tim's sides, and he folded his stomach onto them as he jammed his shoulder into his attacker's stomach. Momentarily stunning the other man, he threw him sideways and onto the floor beside him. 

"What the fuck Replacement?" Jason yelped, sprawled on the floor. He was bare-chested, showing off his impressive collection of scars. He's cradling one of his arms to his stomach, he had taken a pretty impressive strike to his abdomen on patrol, one that had sent him straight into a brick wall, with his left side taking most of the damage. And, wow that was a weird thought. Tim used to never know about Jason's injuries, would never have patrolled with him. 

Patrol used to be him and Nightwing, chasing thugs, leaping from shadow to shadow. Nightwing was a sight to behold, with his ungodly tight suit and lopsided grins, just seeing it left Tim feeling like he could take on the world. Even with the domino mask on, he left everyone in awe. A modern-day Midas, leaving his golden touch on every person he met, every impression left a lasting mark, made people believe they could strive for greatness and achieve more. And then he took on the Batsuit, his magic touch giving way to shadows, changing everything about himself to mold into Bruce's clone. Tim could take the personality shift, he could understand the need for secrets, he could even respect the fact Dick had found himself on a level that Tim could only hope to get too. He was taking risks and making moves so Bruce like that Tim could almost close his eyes and imagine Bruce hadn't gone missing- missing because Bruce couldn't possibly be dead, one shot couldn't take the legendary Bat down. Bruce was supposed to go down fighting, teeth bared, making his final stand, looking like Ares incarnate. Because that's what Bruce was, a god of war and his children were his demigods, holding but a fraction of his golden ichor. But there was no great war, no poetic ending The final straw wasn't the night's Dick spent ignoring him, too caught up in his casework and his workload from Wayne Enterprises, it wasn't even the fact that Dick thought him delusional for his hope that Bruce lived, no the thing that broke Tim, hurt him so deeply he couldn't stand to be in Gotham, was Dick taking Robin from him. 

So Tim left. Most of that year is a bit of a blur, Tim slept and ate less then he had ever before, he was going to make Bruce proud. He hadn't been enough for the man when he was alive, but he would make him proud in death. Or- no, not death. Wherever the fuck Bruce was, Tim would find him. And then Bruce was back, but Dick wasn't. Dick was dead. At least, Tim thought he was. In that year, Tim spent most of his time with Steph and Jason. Kon was dead and Dick was dead, and all he had left was his ex-girlfriend; who had faked her death while they were dating because life was so bad, and fucking Jason; his formerly estranged brother who had actually tried to kill him just about a year earlier. 

Jason was surprisingly witty and intelligent, not at all like the brash dead Robin, whose only legacy was the fact he ran off and got himself blown up. Clearly, he had to have been smart and Tim was just willfully ignoring it. Jason had been a mob boss, running most of the Gotham drug distribution and controlling at least half of the city at one point. That type of organization and planning, that didn't reflect the bloody memory of his death. This Jason liked scrabble and Shakespeare and old movies. And sure he shot the occasional criminal, but these tendencies were nothing new according to Bruce. Jason had apparently once pushed a rapist off a building, though his brother vehemently denied it, intent didn't matter to Bruce, however. Dead is dead, and the fault lied on Jason all the same. Despite this, Tim enjoyed spending time with him. He liked his crude humor and the way he fluttered between outright hatred of Bruce and unwilling tolerance. 

He should have been suspicious of Bruce, excluding his microburst of a reaction, he never actually acknowledged the death of his favorite son; favoritism he never stated but at the same time never tried to hide. Tim knew he was a hypocrite, he remembered screaming at Dick, voice breaking, and body shaking with sobs. The words bounced in his head, " You can't trust that someones dead until you've seen the body." He had pleaded, practically gotten on his knees, in hopes of convincing Dick. But the man just sighed, silent tears streaming down his face, and pulled Tim into a hug. Blatantly overlooking the way Tim half-heartedly battered at Dick's face, punches weakly hitting his face. In typical Dick fashion, he just tightened his grip on the crying boy, rocking the two of them back and forth. Tim didn't know when they got to the floor, but he found himself nearly on Dick's lap as he sobbed into his chest, words a stream of I hate you's and How dare you's. The older man just brushed Tim's sweaty bangs aside, pressed kisses onto his forehead and hair, pressed his face against the younger's head, and began humming. At some point, Tim fell asleep. The next day he began his search for Bruce's body. 

But he never searched for Dick's. He never saw the actual death, just the live stream from before. He'd watched as his oldest brother was brutally unmasked after torture and then killed. And that was that. The funeral was a closed casket one and Bruce never let them see the body, Tim thought it was out of sorrow, or whatever fucked up emotions Bruce was capable of, but instead, it turned out to be for his own gain. But Tim believed him, Tim was going against the rule that he had shouted at Dick only a year and half before. 

And then Dick was back, and what frail bonds they had formed, the fragile dynamics they had cultured collapsed. But Dick had been gone for an entire year, and they had moved on. And here they all were now. Bruce, more closed off than ever. Jason, angry at Dick and taking that out on the entire family. Tim, slowly building up his walls again and retreating inward. Steph was pretty much the same, she had done the same thing after all, and no one blamed her or Leslie. Cass and Damian were forgiving, they understood the value of sacrifice for the mission. And Dick- Dick had fled to Bludhaven after his not so warm welcome back home. 

So here Tim was, breaking into secret files just to get Bruce's attention and find some reason for Dick having faked his death. And also bodily harming Jason, that had also happened. 

"Shit, sorry Jay." Tim murmured, quirking an eye at the man, who had yet to get off the floor. Jason gave him a shit-eating grin and pushed himself off of the concrete. He bounced over, unceremoniously draping himself over Tim's shoulders. His body weight was a welcomed warmth, even if he pressed a little harder then necessarily on the side that Tim hit him with. It was done both with humorous revenge and warning, making sure Tim remembered who he was dealing with. If Tim had done that a two years ago, Jason would've shot him as a response, it filled Tim with warmth, 'Look at how far we've come he thought.'

"Is that-" Jason did a double-take, not many people had the bravery to hack the bat, "Is that Bruce's private network? What the fuck, man. He's gonna kill you, or at least take you off patrol." He was grinning though, Tim hardly ever stuck it to the man, and he could only imagine what Jason was thinking about this. 

Jason shifted off his shoulder, and gently body checked Tim's chair, sending him spinning away from the Batcomputer, "Here, I'm not an expert or anything, but I've got an old virus, guess being ancient pays off," He side-eyed Tim, blowing at the bleached white part of his hair. Their relationship was still shaky, still a little unknown. But Tim could acknowledge that this was Jason playing with him, making jokes and trying to help. He huffed out a laugh, nodding his thanks. 

Jason smiled at him, a gentle thing usually only used for victoms, aiming to comfort them. "Alright," He continued, startling Tim as he clapped loudly, "Let's see what the old man is hiding." The cave was quiet, save the clattering of the keys and the computers beeps as Jason probed at its defenses. "He has a fucking file on Goldie?" He let out a sardonic laugh, " What the hell is in here, certificates of people detailing his worth? A timeline of every time he did something worthwhile?" He continued prattling on, but Tim tuned him out, content to sip at his tea, he learned long ago not to stop Jason when he started on his rants. 

His eyes flittered around, catching on the trophies around the cave. The dinosaur and the giant penny, Two-Faces coin and a freeze gun. He had almost gotten to the gruesome memorials, one for each of his kids, save Tim- because while he'd never be able to impress Bruce, at least he hadn't died- when Jason let out a triumphant yell.

Exchanging grins, they turned their attention to the screen where the zipped file revealed thousands of smaller files, each given a name in some code neither Jason nor Tim knew. But Dick used it, Tim knew that, if Tim hadn't been so intent on hating him, he would've texted Dick to ask for the key. As it was, the last time they texted Tim had been asking Dick to stop bothering him, ever the people pleaser, Dick had complied, after sending one last heart emoji of course- he was left on read. Tim didn't know if he was happy that Dick had listened, or upset that Dick wasn't fighting for their relationship. 

Jason jumped into action, clicking on a random file from the bunch. There had to have been at least a hundred items in it, all audio recording, each labeled a date.

Scanning through them, Tim spoke up, "These have to be Bruce's calls with Dick, each of these dates falls within the first few months of his deep cover, right up until.." He trailed off, snatching the mouse from Jason and scrolling through he ordered them chronologically, "Right until Bruce got amnesia, and a little bit after."

God knows what they talked about, if Tim had any less common sense, he would've clicked on one. But, part of him thought, this is the only way you'll ever get answers. Blinking hard, he tried to ignore that train of thought, quickly clicking out of the file, he opened another one. This one held a ton of paperwork, each titled some shit like Grayson Death Report, CSI Investigation, and.. what the hell?

"That says Juvie Record right?" Jason asked, "I know I'm not fucking crazy, I take my meds and do the therapy. This is like, some body snatching, parallel universe shit. What the fuck was Dickie doing in juvie?"

Grimacing Tim, exited again, and once again choose a random file. Automatically it opened a video, the still image was almost frightening, in the way totally shocking pictures of their father figure giving his eldest son the right hook can be. Teenage Dick Grayson, no less handsome despite the fist hitting his cheek, almost certainly breaking his jaw and definitely leaving a nasty bruise, his eyes alight with fury and fear as he stared into Bruces own unforgiving ones. Based on the date Dick would have been in his late teens, definitely no older than seventeen. 

"Jesus Christ Jason, what the hell is this stuff? Juvie records, confidential calls, and this- this fucking picture?" Tim spluttered, gesturing wildly at the screen, just barely avoiding knocking his tea over,"It's like, all the possible blackmail material was hand-wrapped and placed in one little file for us. Who the hell puts all this in one spot, it took one hack for us to find this, and we haven't even checked everything?'

Jason grinned, it looked a little maniac, a little sad, but mostly eager because of course Jason was looking to exploit this stuff. "I always knew Bruce's arrogance would be his downfall, but this easy? Taken down by his own kids, this is beautiful, Shakespearean even." His voice was rising, eyes going a little greener than usual. Pit Madness, Tim noticed.

"Let the dogs of war slip loose." Jason murmured, before clicking to let the video start, "Let them." 

With that, they sat back and let it play.


	2. and i shout for whatever its worth ( i love you, and aint that the damndest thing you ever heard?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Tim learn a little about Dick's firing and the events that followed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, got a little distracted with another story I'd like to write; A marvel/ dc crossover where SHIELD picks up Dick's distress signal and pulls him out of Spyral.
> 
> I haven't fully decided on a format for the story, so it may change a little
> 
> A few quick notes  
> \- I'm playing with the timeline of young justice and titans a little bit. Dick is on young justice from about 13 to 16 before getting fired, leaving the team, and creating Titans. Young justice disbands until Tim becomes Robin and reforms it. Also, Artemis is alluded to being real dead, she's not.  
> \- Roy and Kory were never on the Outsiders, I'm tired of Jason stealing Dick's friends. Jason instead traveled the world post-resurrection before coming back to Gotham and establishing himself as a semi- crime lord. 
> 
> i think that's it

_It starts with Dick lying in a hospital bed, the video that is. He’s pale and stiff, with an oxygen mask on, lying still in a way he never could while conscious, although that may have had something to do with the massive amount of bandages wrapped around his shoulder and the drugs pumping through his system (Alfred always gave the batkids the good stuff)._

Fingers drumming in anticipation, Jason glances over at Tim, who's intently studying the scene, brow furrowed and lips pursed. Jason's unsure about what Tim’s looking at, because there’s no movement on-screen, save the occasional twitch of discomfort in Dick’s lips.

“ Dick’s gotta be- what? Fifteen, sixteen? What the hell did he do to make Bruce hit him so young?” Tim suddenly pipes up, throwing a questioning look at Jason, as if Jason somehow knew.

Jason only laughs in response, but it’s definitely not a nice noise, “Didn’t realize there was a minimum age for child abuse.” He’s only half-joking.

Tim just rolls his eyes, “ It’s not abuse if it’s deserved.” And fuck, if that ain’t the saddest thing Jasons ever been told, but Jason doesn’t have much room to talk. Plus, he’s got enough Daddy issues without adding Tim’s to his own load. He doesn’t have time to psychoanalyze Tim’s feelings when he’s so busy suppressing his own. Thankfully, Jason’s saved from having to comment because there’s finally movement in the video.

_Dick’s chest suddenly starts heaving, and he goes to lift the mask off his face, struggling to raise the bandaged arm up, which just happened to be his dominant one. The boy’s arm flutters up and down for a few seconds before the limb falls defeatedly to his side. He’s clearly not lucid, panicked eyes shifting wildly as his drugged up mind tries to make sense of the situation and he’s muttering beneath the mask, words too slurred for the mics to make out any of it._

_Bruce appears moments later, clad in his change of clothes he keeps in the Batcave- grey sweats and a loose shirt. He’s standing on the platform above the medbay and, in a moment so uncharacteristic of himself, he hesitates. Emotions flicker across his face- fear, anger, determination- before he settles on his typical emotionless mask and he makes his way to Dick’s bedside._

_He gently hushes Dick, one hand going up to cradle the distressed boy's cheek while the other grabs the mask and lifts it off. His gaze isn’t looking at Dick, instead, it’s directed at the chart lying on the bedside table, probably double-checking the next time he can sedate the boy. Dick’s left-hand flies up and he grips Bruce’s wrist, finger locking tight enough to bruise. Bruce redirects his attention to the boy's face._

_“ How are you, chum?” He asks, the low timber of his voice soothing instead of commanding, but Dick stills anyways, eyes blinking rapidly to clear the blurriness. Dick just blinks back, confused and groggy. Bruce perches next to his hip and raises on hand to caress through Dick’s tousled hair._

_Hesitantly, Dick moves to sit up, using his shoulder to prop himself up so his good hand can fumble around for the panel that controls the bed. “ I- I don’t remember what happened exactly.” Dick trails off, eyes flickering to Bruce, gauging his mood, before resting on his lap, “ We were down by Amusement Mile, checking on a tip we’d gotten from one of Riddler’s goons, and- and I remember the civilians, three of them. You sent me to scout ahead through the Fun House, something about a pincer move- but that doesn’t make sense because he came up from behind me, but I thought I was taking the rear and-”_

_“ And-,” Bruce interrupts, hand stilling in Dick’s hair, “ And you were shot, Richard.” His hand continues threading through it, but this time it’s almost tugging on it if Dick’s pained winces are anything to go by. “ You were either deliberately obtuse or distracted in the field, neither of which is appropriate. The Joker got away, after shooting you and killing the hostages. ”_

_Dick’s chest starts heaving and his eyes shut tight, hand gripping the bed sheets tightly, “ I- I’m so sorry Bruce-.” He starts._

_“ Goddammit, Dick!”_

Whatever else Bruce has to say is cut off as Tim pauses the video.

“ Has the Joker ever used guns before?” He asks, arching his eyebrows as he thinks back to his run-ins with the mad clown, which wasn’t many. The Joker had found Tim boring during their encounters, this Jason knows from hearing Tim’s constant complaining.

Jason grunts noncommittally. Most people forget he only spent three years as Robin before his death and, unlike what most people think, the Joker could spend years dreamin up his plots. Sure he was a psychotic asshole with no rational thought, but madness and intelligence often go hand in hand, just look at what Jason did when he got back to Gotham.

“Look kid, Joker was pretty much radio silent when I was Robin, at least until he, ya know, murdered me. My time in the pixie boots was spent chasing down gangsters and thugs while most of the big names were in Arkham. Batman was kept pretty busy hunting down Deacon Blackwater, I think you met him during the whole Blackest Night ordeal. ”

Tim just stares back at him, “ I think meeting him was overshadowed by my parents coming back as evil zombies and recreating their deaths.”

Jason gives a short bark of laughter, slightly jealous that Tim got to confront his dickish parents. What he wouldn’t give to have Sheila in front of him, begging for her life… And nope, he’s definitely not going to pursue this train of thought; shit like this being the reason he was estranged for so very long. It’s very much time to redirect the conversation, no matter how abrupt and obvious it may be.

“ I’m pretty sure Joker’s been known to use guns before, he saves 'em for people not worth his time, the fucking psycho gives hand to hand combat like gifts, thinks guns aren’t personal enough for his favorites.” Jason holds a hand up to stop Tim, who looks like he’s about to begin a very long, very angry rant. “ He just doesn't bother with you in general, you're always fighting his henchmen or Harley. He's not gonna waste his time taking shots at you or engaging in combat. Look, you're like a footnote to him kid. You came in when he was basking his glory at killing me, you couldn’t have made an impression if you tried. I’ve always been his favorite, said he dreamed of using the crowbar on me for ages, and that he’d keep it as a trophy. Always said my screams were the loveliest noises he’d ever heard.” He trails off, lost in thought.

Up in that warehouse, he’d conversed with the man who would eventually kill him for hours. They’d discussed the dreams Jason would never accomplish- English degrees and a day job as a social worker- Joker had even tried to ask about Jason’s thoughts on marriage, and Jason could do nothing but blush because at 15 he wasn’t even ready for casual dating, would never live long enough for marriage. He’d learned far too much about the mad man, got a glimpse too deep into his mind, but at the time it didn’t matter because he was going to die and stay dead. Now though, now he couldn’t look into most crooks faces without seeing the Joker in them- Black Canary called it residual trauma, Jason just called it wuss behavior.

Digging his fingers in his thighs, Jason tried to shake off the sudden overwhelming fear the memories had dredged up. Ignoring Tim’s concerned looks he continued, “ He told me he hated Dick, once. Hated the fact he could never hurt Dick the way he hurt others, said no one could impact the first Robin and that he’d always bounced back. Though he did mention incidents with Two-Face and Deathstroke- can you believe Dick gotta fight a legend like that, he’s such a shithead for not sharing those stories. God, what I wouldn’t give to go against him- even fucking Shiva had nothing but praise for him.”

Tim gives a hum in response, still stewing in his typical pit of angst. He’s never liked being underestimated, couldn’t handle a villain not finding him interesting. After capturing the attention of Ra’s al Ghul, Tim had gotten cocky, which was pretty in character of him- even if Jason thinks Ra’s called him the moniker Detective mockingly, insults seem more on-brand for the man then compliments.

The rooms fallen silent, neither of them having much to say. Tim starts up the video again. It's calm; which is why it's so surprising when on-screen Bruce starts yelling.

_“ You’ve been dead weight on the field for weeks, where’s your mind gone? You have a duty, a responsibility to protect the people of Gotham and you're failing.”_

_Dick flinches, he’s never done well with failure. Bruce demanded perfection and had instilled the same expectations in Dick._

_“ Look. I- I’m sorry if I’ve been distracted on the field, I just…. There’s a lot going on with the Team right now. Kaldur’s in deep cover and Artemis is fucking dead and-.”_

_Bruce cuts him off with a heavy, condescending sigh and moves to stand at the foot of the bed. He towers over Dick, casting him in Bruce’s shadow. He cuts an imposing figure, looming over the bed and he makes Dick look so, so small._

_ The Bat starts pacing, “ I should’ve known better than to place you on the team. Barbara could’ve taken your place instead. She would've been able to establish Kaldur’s cover without killing anyone.”  _

_ Dick recoils in shock, his voice so soft that it’s barely audible, “ You can’t mean that, right? I’m good at this, aren’t I?” His face is so raw, so open, in a way it usually never is. He’s the happy one, the one who’s always smiling not this- not this heartbroken thing so hell-bent at getting praise from a man that he’d beg for it.  _

_ “ Maybe you’re just not cut out for this, Dickie.” Cold. Unforgiving. This isn’t the man who has raised Dick for eight years, this is the Bat. _

_ Dick’s angry now, “ One gunshot wound suddenly makes me incapable of fieldwork? Well, fuck you, Bruce! Bane can break your fucking back and I’m the one who’s being yelled at?” _

_ Bruce stills, hands forming fists before relaxing, “ Robin’s over, Richard. Alfred’s looking into boarding schools where you can finish your education away from Gotham.” _

_ “No.” Comes Dick’s terrified whisper, “ I should’ve known I’d get too old for you, guess the rumors were right, huh. But you can’t take Robin from me- it’s not yours to give and take.”  _

_ The Bat looks horrified, actually shrinking back as if to avoid the accusation. “ It’s not like that, chum. It’s got nothing to do with age, okay? You're just, you're just not ready for the field right now and you might never be.” He looks firm now, set in his decision. “ It’s for your own good.” _

_ But Dick’s not taking this easy, he’s never been one to take anything the easy way, “ Robin isn’t some fucking title, I’m Robin! I’ve been Robin since before I met you- since birth. Hell, I’ve been called Robin longer then you’ve been the fucking Batman!" _

_ The boy staggers out of bed, haphazardly stumbling to his feet and throwing the blanket aside. He’s properly yelling now, but most of it isn’t in English.  _

_ “ Richard.” Bruce intones, voice callous. When Dick doesn’t calm down, Bruce adds a little of the Bat voice into the word, “ Richard.” _

_ He finally stills, mouth frozen open and chest heaving. His shoulders clearly in pain, face twisted a little and fingers twitching,  _

_ “ It was my mother's name for me.” His voice is so full of emotion, practically bursting with undiluted pain. “ I was her little Robin. It’s all I have left of her, all I’ve got to honor and remember my parents by.”  _

_ “ I know.”  _

_ Dicks not done begging yet, he’s gone almost limp from exhaustion. He’s clearly tired and achy, but he gets an iron grip on Bruce’s wrist. _

_ “ Please. I don’t- I don’t have anything else.” Dick’s crying now, honest tears streaming down his face. He’s never been big on crying, didn’t do it often, and never audibly. He’s always been a silent crier, which makes it look all the more pathetic. “ No pictures, no records- nothing of them alive. All I have is them dead. My mother was never meant to be remembered dead. I’m forgetting them, Bruce. My own fucking parents and I can’t remember how they sounded or the way my father smiled.” _

_ Bruce gathers the sobbing boy into his arms, sweeping him into a hug. The man doesn’t give them out often, but Dick loves it when Bruce let’s loose like this. He molds himself into the man, gripping on desperately and tucking his face into the man’s neck, deeply breathing in his cologne.  _

“ Holy shit, Jay. His- his mother’s name for him?” Tim looks properly horrified, not unlike how Jason imagines he looks right now. 

He’d always been jealous of Dick, who’d had loving parents and a good home up until their murder. Jason had been stuck with Willis Todd and two mothers- one a drug addict and the other who’d sold him out and let him die. But to know he’d stolen Dick’s only memory of parents and flaunted it in his face, that was unforgivable. 

“ I, I always knew his attachment to Robin went beyond the job, I just thought he was jealous that Bruce chose me.” 

“ Did Dick ever tell you. About the name, I mean.”

He shrugs in lieu of a real answer, rolling his eyes at Tim’s sigh of annoyance. “Goldie and I weren’t real buddy-buddy. Dick wasn’t interested in being my brother or confiding in me, he was too focused on being an asshole and constantly pissing Bruce off.“ He finally gets out, mulling over his relationship with Dick pre-death. At least, the bits he remembers. After the whole traumatic death and equally traumatic resurrection, there were pretty big blank spots in his memory. 

Dick at 17 was a supernova of negative emotions, and he was so, so pissed off at the world. But Jason remembers the sweeter moments in life. Secret text messages and midnight rendezvous on rooftops. Passing time by playing rooftop tag and Nightwing teaching the new Robin the art of Train Surfing. Half the time when Bruce was off-world, Jason would book it to Dick’s, and the two would go on adventures together. 

When he was younger, Jason hated Dick for the fact that his supposed older brother couldn’t set aside his feelings about Bruce. But years later, Jason gets it. He thinks if he had lived him and Dick would’ve been fucking great brothers, but life screwed them over. 

“ I was there, that night you know.”

And, no, Jason didn’t fucking know. Jesus Tim, let a guy stew in his thoughts for a minute without making shit about you. 

“ When his parents died.” Holy fuck.

“ You were an infant when that happened, what the hell do you remember of it.” 

Tim just shakes his head, “ I was like two-ish. It’s one of the first things I remember actually, although it could just be my mind creating false memories to cope with the trauma of seeing people die.” 

“ Can’t you be normal, for once?”

Jason gets a pretty good glare for that comment.

“ So you were a fucked up kid, what of it?” He asks, slightly worried because Tim never fucking hesitates to share information but he’s stalling now. He’s more likely to rub it in someone’s face or casually drop in conversation condescending. Tim, especially, never thinks twice about shitting on Dick. 

Tim’s mouth opens and shuts a couple of times like he can’t figure out how to phrase it. “His family was wearing similar colors to the Robin suit, Dick’s version of it at least.” 

That throws Jason for a loop, “ Are you telling me Bruce took his mother’s nickname for him, his family’s colors, and, very possibly, a suit modeled after his circus one?’

Tim looks sick, Jason feels sick. They continue the video. 

_ “ Oh, chum. It’s alright. See what Robin does to you, see how it hurts you? Let it go. Maybe some other kid can take up the mantle and honor your parents too.” _

_ Dick pulls back, looking disgusted, “ Some other kid? How would another kid using my name honor my parents? That’s - that’s not honoring, that’s tarnishing it. Giving that up is like… it’s like giving up my parents, that’s a goodbye” _

_ “ No, Dickie. It’s the creation of a legacy, something you can leave behind when even your dead.” _

_ Rightfully, Dick looks pissed. “ God, Bruce. What don’t you get about this? Robin’s not supposed to be ‘left behind’ it’s an identity- my identity- not some bullshit legacy. The only legacy my family is the circus, which my families been traveling in for decades. Like, your Father left you the Wayne Business and your Mom left you the charities.”  _

_ “ Don’t bring my family into this, what would your parents think about your nightly adventures? Think they’d be proud of the way your staining that name in blood, the way you carry it around like it gives you permission to carry out justice?” Bruce growls, stepping back from Dick.  _

_ Dick throws his good hand in the air, “ Fucking yes! My parents despised the American police force, hated the way it was made of more loopholes than rules. Ever wonder why Haley didn’t bring us to America more often? It’s because your country fucking sucks, okay?” _

_ Like a sullen teenager, Bruce lets out a huff, “ I may not be your father, but I have the authority to send you to boarding school. If you can’t keep yourself off the Gotham streets, then I’ll remove them from your life altogether. You hate it here so badly, you can attend school in another country- another fucking continent if you want.” _

_ “ You as good as my father, Bruce. I’ve almost known you longer than my real dad anyways. Does that mean anything to you? What if I told you that your the first person who comes to mind when someone mentions dads.” He’s desperate, Bruce never confided in Dick about their relationship and didn’t use the ‘L’ word too often. “Please, Bruce. Your- you’re my dad.” _

_ “Guardian.”  _

_ “ What?’  _

_ “You’re not my son, I’m not your dad. The only thing binding us is paperwork that expires the moment you turn eighteen.” _

_ Dick snaps, he marches up to Bruce and sticks his finger in the man’s face, “ Just because you have some aversion to feelings and family issue-” _

_ He never finishes, his words cut off as Bruce’s fist hits his cheek. He staggers back, clutching at his jaw. Bruce is seething, fist still clenched. Dick makes a show out of working his jaw open, not bothering to hide his pained expression.  _

_ “ Get out.” Bruce grunts.  _

_ Dick laughs, spitting out some blood, “ Of the cave? Please, Bruce, this isn’t going to stop me from patrolling.” _

_ “ Not the cave. Get out of my fucking house.” _

_ Dick freezes, expression flickering between anger and fear. “ Are you- are you kicking me out? That’s not legal, sixteen year olds cant live on their own.” _

_ “ That’s not my problem. Get out.” _

_ “ God Bruce. If you want me gone, I’ll fucking leave. But if this is it, it’s the end. No team-ups, no get-togethers, nothing. If you’re throwing me out, it’s gotta be all the way.” His feeble tone betrays the severity of the words. It’s clearly a last-ditch effort but their relationship has been failing for months.  _

_ There’s no response.  _

_ Dick leaves.  _

Tim and Jason sit in silence. Jason’s not quite sure how knowing this affects his relationship with Dick, but something sure as hell has changed. 

Tim looks broken, “ I- I always thought he had outgrown Robin and left on his own. But he was kicked out, full-on cut-off.” He looks like he’s about to cry. 

“ Dick was probably fine, he’s got more friends than people I know.” 

“ But-, “ Tim shudders, “ I just-” He’s pretty hysterical now, “ I was so fucking rude when he fired me and compared to this, mine was so easy.”

He looks mad- crazy mad that is- eyes alight with regret and anger, hair messy and skin pale. 

“ Its oka-” 

Jason thuds back as Tim grabs his shoulders like a madman, “ No, it’s not. Dick told me that we could never be Batman and Robin because we were equals, said I was too good for Robin. I just thought he didn’t want to work with me. Or maybe, he thought I was crazy because I kept looking for Bruce.”

Shrugging off Tim’s hands, Jason settles back into his chair, “ Kid, it’s alright. Bruce must’ve kept an eye on Dickie. We’ll just find something else on it.”

And they look, but there’s nothing for weeks. Bruce must’ve held out on stalking Dick for as long as he could because the next clue they found was a voicemail from Clark Kent. 

_ “ Christ, Bruce. You kick your son out and then lose track of him. You might not realize this, but other people care about Dick, even if you don’t. Shit- that was rude. Look, I’m sorry, I’m tired. The Leagues been taking on more missions since Young Justice disbanded. They lost three fucking members, Bruce, three. They’re just kids. Kaldurs still undercover, Artemis is dead, and Dick’s awol. That’s their leader, sky support, and everything Dick does. God…. Anyway, I heard from Barry that Dick’s with Wally. Apparently Dick traveled Europe for a month or so trying to track down Haley’s before Wally found him and brought him back to the states. They got an apartment in Bludhaven. Dick’s doing good, okay Bruce. He’s getting financially stable, he got an adult to cosign on his apartment- I almost did that for him- and he’s gotten his G.E.D. Dick’s got it together, but he’s struggling. You’ve been his whole world for years and you broke his trust. Wally’s doing what he can, says he’s trying to convince Dick to strike out on his own like Speedy. That’s all I’ve got, sorry. See you Thursday.” _

That left Jason with more questions than answers, fortunately Tim seemed to know most of the answers. 

“ Who the hell is Wally?”

“ Original Kid Flash, I think. He and Dick dated for like five years, but Dick said they’d known each other for like, eight years.”

Jason straightened, “ That’s past tense, he out of the picture? Another jilted lover?”

“ No ah- he’s dead. There was a crisis a few years ago, and Wally came out of his retirement to help. But he- he didn’t make it. He literally disappeared. One minute he and Dick were in domestic bliss, and the next he was gone, not even a body to bury,” Tim had met him once or twice, clearly, because he looked pretty upset about it. “ Bart said him and Dick were serious, that Wally even had a ring.” 

Oh.

“ Fuck, Dickie always falls for the tragic ones. Who’s Speedy, Clark mentioned him.” 

Tim blinked slowly, “ You- you don’t know?”

“ I would never associate with someone who sounds like a fucking druggy.” Tim snorted, falling over in peels of laughter. Jason knew he was funny, he was a fucking riot, but what he said wasn’t that hilarious. Right?

“ Oh my god. Speedy is Roy Harper. You know, ex-drug addict.”

Jason felt bad, really awful about it. He knew the struggles of addiction, saw it first hand with his mother. “ Oh god, that was shitty. Why didn’t you stop me.” 

“ Anyways…… I’m pretty sure Dick went on to found the Titans with a couple of other teens. Lot’s of legacies on that team; ex-bat, Wonder Woman’s sister, Aquaman's something, Flash’s nephew, Green Arrows adopted son…. They had a good run. Dick was actually on the team as both Robin and Nightwing, ya know?”

No, Jason did not know because he was pretty sure he had been Robin while Dick had been with the Titans. He brought up that with Tim. 

“ Uhhhh, fucking weird.”

They sleuthed through some more records until they uncovered a voicemail from Dick, almost a year after he had been kicked out. It had taken an entire fucking year for Dick and Bruce to reconnect, and Dick had done it drunk. His voice was so slurred it was a wonder he wasn’t passed out on the floor. Which really was concerning because Dick had only been about seventeen. 

_ “ Heyyyy, Bruce. It’s been -hiccup- a while. I uh, thought about calling ages ago but I’m tired of being the only fighting for our relationship. Also, you’re a bag of dicks and I hate you. Heard you got a new kid, or your - hiccup- first kid ‘cause I apparently wasn’t your son. Congrats on finally having the balls to sign up for a family. I hope the adoption papers gave you a papercut, a deep, bloody one. Thanks for telling me about it, glad I didn’t have to read about it in the newspaper. Oh, wait. Fuck you. Bet I never woulda learned if I hadn’t continued reading the Gotham Gazette. I like when they print pictures of you in it, sometimes I use it as target practice. I’m joking, joking. Donna didn’t like the holes I left in the wall the first time. There are rumors, you know, that Robin’s back on the streets. But, I a: don’t remember being five foot nothing within the past few years and b: haven’t fucking been back to Gotham. Thanks so much for letting me know, guess I gotta hang up the suit now. You know, everyone but you has talked to me about it, couldn’t give them any answers seeing as I don’t fucking know anything. But thanks, thanks for this, my parents must be rolling in their graves. You’re a bastard.” _

Stunned, Tim sat back. 

“ So he really didn’t know about me.” Jason mused, “ Guess that explains the less the warm reception.” 

Tim was apparently surprised for a different reason, “ I knew their relationship wasn’t great before you died, but this- this is complete shit.”

“ They got it together for you, lots of misplaced guilt on their parts. I remember their arguments, pretty vividly in fact. No point was to low for them to use against each other and nothing was off-limits. It- It was pretty horrifying. I didn’t think they’d ever be able to be in the same room without a catfight.”

Lost in thought, Tim leaned back. 

From behind, Jason could hear Bruce coming down the stairs, knew it was him based on the creak of the stairs. 

“ Shit, Shit, Shit.” Jason hissed. The evidence of their snooping was openly displayed on the monitor, the giant fucking screen visible from just about anywhere in the cave. He jolted out of his chair and powered off the computer, just moments before Bruce came into his line of sight. 

He raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious of the two of them staring into a black screen looking as if the entire world was going to end. 

“ You two should head out to patrol early tonight.” No preamble, no hello’s, just straight into it. 

Tim leaned toward Bruce, resting his elbows on his knees, “ Why?”

“ Dick’s coming over for dinner.” 

Jason froze. Had their relationships with Dick gotten so bad that Bruce was getting rid of them just so Goldie could come over. Sure Tim did little to mask his hate and every word Jason directed to Dick was usually an insult. Not to mention the fact they’d both hit him before, said out loud they wished he’d stayed dead and- holy shit. 

“ No.” Jason blurted, surprising every in the room, including himself. “ We’d uh, we’d like to come to dinner.”

Tim scowled, clearly whatever epiphany Jason had did not also happen to Tim. Jason pinched his side, snickering as Tim flailed away. 

He quickly agreed, hoping to stop Jason’s attacks. 

“ You really want to come to dinner?” They both nodded, Tim a little more hesitant. “ Fine, but neither of you can give him shit. One word and you’re both, yes both, leaving to go on patrol.” 

Jesus Christ, what had Jason done. 


	3. pictures don't change (but the people do)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family dinners have never been so awkward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This so late, oops. I saw one of my favorite fanfic writers had this bookmarked and it really threw me for a loop which made it really hard to write. Also, I had to come up with a connecting plot, so there is now a case that will reveal even more shit because I realized a lot of what I wanted to show wouldn't be the file seeing as Dick would never have told Bruce. So, yeah, enjoy!!

Some people are born with an otherworldliness- smiles too sweet to be sincere, faces so beautiful it’s sinful, and an aura so overwhelming you can’t look away. 

Dick Grayson is one of these people. 

He leaves people wanting more- wanting him. It’s been like this since he was a kid, and it seemed to only have grown with age. It was like every day he rolled out of bed more attractive; going all the way from sweet to  _ fuck me, please. _ And it’s not just his face or Adonis-like body, his personality is just so entrancing. Dick’s got the humor and the smarts, he can plan and lead, and, most importantly, he can change- he’s so adaptable it borders on manipulative; not that he does it with ill-intent. 

But he’s also apparently the type to get sucker-punched in the jaw by his father. It’s difficult to reconcile this fact with literally everything else about him; who knew that in his wake of ex-teammates and heartbreaks, it would be his own fucking father to hit him. 

Tim doesn’t have much room to talk though, it’s a well-known fact that he welcomed his brother back from the dead with his fist rather than open arms. Bruce’s hit was uncalled for, a couple of hard-hitting insults wasn’t deserving of a punch- Tim’s hit was justified though. Right? 

He tries not to dwell on it, but part of him misses his brother. Dick’s always been his favorite brother- having the advantage of never trying to kill Tim probably boosted him up the ranks- and a few bad years didn’t mean they could never get back to how they used to be. Tim just wasn’t ready to face his brother so soon.

They were all lingering in the living room closest to the entry foyer, settled into the leather couches as Alfred finished with the meal. Cass and Damian weren’t hiding their suspicious glances- apparently, no one knew what to make of Jason and Tim’s presence, not even them. 

“Todd, Drake,-” Damian began, making sure Bruce was occupied as he fiddled with the vintage radio, “Your presence isn’t necessary for tonight’s dinner.”

Jason grinned, leaning over Cass to ruffle the kid’s hair, “Maybe Timmers and I want to say hello to Dickie, he hasn’t been in Gotham lately.” He dodged the hand Damian swatted at him and ignored his scowl. 

"If you are implying Grayson is avoi-”

The front door slammed open, thankfully sparing Tim from another  _ Grayson loves me best  _ rant. 

“God it’s cold out there!” 

Damian and Cass are the first out the door with Bruce just a few steps behind. Jason shoots a quick look at Tim, quirking his eyebrow in a silent invitation to follow. 

Dick’s taking off his coat, hair windswept and cheeks still flushed from the cold. He’s so caught up in whatever he’s discussing with Bruce, that he’s somehow become tangled in his coat, one hand gesturing wildly as the other is trapped behind. Bruce doesn’t bother to help, he nods and mhms in all the right places as he watches on in silent amusement. 

Cass slips in behind, grabbing at the collar and pulling it off, not even startling as Dick abruptly twists to capture her in a one-armed hug. She relaxes into his side, eyes closing in content as Dick bends to give a quick platonic kiss to her forehead and brush a stray bang behind her ear. 

Tim slows a little as he enters behind Jason. They’ve all somehow placed themselves into a half-circle around Dick, who always seems to be at the center of their family. Jason’s tucked himself into a wall impression, fitting himself next to a marble bust of some old Wayne matriarch and Tim has, after much debate, decided to remain in the doorway.

Dick’s mid-rant, some story involving motorcycles, Roy Harper, and something about a minor fire in the Titans Tower, “Roy’s no help- too busy putting out his shirt and I’m somehow the one holding Vic’s arm and trying to turn it into a fire extinguisher. So-”

Tim tunes it out, too busy watching Dick somehow tame the fucking demon brat. Damian’s not one for touching, never has been, but he and Dick have some system or something. The closest the kid gets to initiating a hug is getting into someone’s space and pressing his face against their stomach, leaving Dick to tug him in as he halfheartedly struggles out of their hold. He’s not fooling anyone though, he flashes a happy grin toward the ground as he shuffles closer to Dick. He’s clearly missed him. 

It wasn’t a lie when Jason said Dick hadn’t been in Gotham recently. Dick’s been, well, not exactly avoiding the family so much as only seeking out specific members, but the younger kids always act like some touch-deprived weirdos whenever they see him. They get clingy, too clingy for anyone who wasn’t as equally touchy as Dick. Take now, for an example: Cass has draped herself over his back like a human blanket and Damian looks like he’s trying to absorb into Dick’s abs. 

Jason startles suddenly, he’d been unsuccessfully trying to catch Tim’s eye and in the process almost knocked over the statue. 

Dick glances up, catching sight of them. His eyes imperceptibly widen, his face becoming so impossibly vulnerable that Tim almost flinches. Dick offers up a hesitant smile as his gaze flickers between Jason and Tim. In his peripheral, Tim can see Jason immediately scowl. And, wait a minute, wasn’t it Jason’s idea in the first place and here he is looking like he’s just smelled something rancid. 

It’s a three-way standoff- Dick looking heartbreakingly hopeful, Jason and Tim attempting to look anywhere but at him, and the others looking on anxiously. 

Thankfully Alfred had arrived. 

“Now, Master Richard, you’ve gone and left the front door open.” Contrary to his tone, the man’s smiling in that infuriating British way. It’s all smirk but still completely sincere, a mix of distant professionalism and pseudo-grandfather. 

Dick just grins at him, losing the tension in his shoulders as soon as his estranged brothers are out of focus. “Maybe I was trying to lure you out to meet me, Alfie.” 

At the butlers raised eyebrow Dick laughs brightly- and though he would never admit it, the sound fills Tim with a warmth he hadn't felt in months- he shuffles away from Damian, still lugging Cass around on his back. The kid scowls, grumbling as he reaches a hand up to fix his hair.

“You're late, Grayson” Damian mutters. The kids never liked straying from schedule, all the threats from his childhood enforcing a strictness on how he uses his time. 

“Sorry kiddo, traffic was pretty bad.” 

Bruce glances up sharply,” That’s definitely a lie.” Dick pouts. “You can stop that, we all know traffic laws are more of a guideline for you anyways.” 

And dammit, Tim’s smiling too. Dick had actually helped to, well, not help teach him to drive but he was definitely there. He spent his time yelling helpful suggestions like ‘why not drive outside of the metaphorical box- for fucks sake Tim, the lines, not the car, just swerve a bit. Stop yelling at me! I’ll be quie- oh shit- swerve!- for real! Eyes on the road! Eyes on the road!’ Of course, when Tim had, the first things he saw were the lights of a semi heading right towards him. 

“I may have been slightly lying- but when is traffic not bad? Huh? Gothamites are ready to fistfight Riddler, you really think they’d respect traffic laws? ” 

Tim snorts maybe dinner won’t be so bad. If he and Jason stayed kinda quiet-

“C’mon Goldie. You’re usually better at lying- you and Bruce both managed for a year.”

Fucking Jason. 

Damian scuttles over, drawing everyone’s attention away from Jason. He grabs a hold of Dick’s shirt and tugs the man out the door, probably to the dining room. Cass slips off his back and he flashes her a smile before he leaves. 

And suddenly the room feels off, feels emptier. It’s like as soon as Tim saw Dick again the world had righted somehow and now that he’s gone it’s off. 

Cass sidles up to him and, if Tim hadn’t been a paranoid vigilante, he would’ve jumped. 

"He’s favoring his right foot. Unwrapped and most likely untreated.” For all the progress she’s made speaking she still talks stiffly. Why drag on what you could get across quickly, she’d always say. 

Bruce just grunts in response. Dick hiding injuries was nothing new. He’d grown up and worked with so many meta’s and Inhumans that minor injuries were always exaggerated and blown out of proportion. So he stopped reporting them or lying about the severity. Once, during Tim’s early days as Robin, Dick had gone on patrol with broken ribs for three days- would’ve been more except a kick to the ribs had jostled them and punctured his lung. 

“Makes sense then.” At everyone’s questioning looks, Tim continues, ”The lateness, I mean. He can’t drive very well if he can’t even walk on his foot..” 

He trails off awkwardly. Cass- sweet, lovely, beautiful Cass- just lifts her eyebrow at him, as if to say  _ ‘duh, we knew that’.  _

He can hear Jason grumbling behind him, and Tim doesn’t have to be a genius- which he is- to know that it’s got to do with him. Oh well, Peace with Jason was so nice while it lasted. 

“Leave your brother alone,” Bruce says as he makes his way to the dining room.

“Yeah, Jase.” Tim grins, gesturing towards his brother, “ At least my stealth isn’t so shit that I can’t even hide in my own house.” 

Jason blushes bright red, like Red Hood kinda red. “Shut up. I don’t even live here. Well, at least not all the time.” He amends. 

Tim just shakes his head, “Whatever, we can make fun of you later, let’s just try to make it through dinner for now.” 

He had expected dinner to be awkward, full of stilted conversations and long silences. What he got was instead Dick and Damian- fucking Damian- bickering about a kids cartoon and Cass intermittently speaking her piece. 

“No, no,” Dick is protesting widely, face oddly distressed for such a childish conversation, “You’re clearly more of a Zuko. Like, terrible home life, constant attempts at gaining honor, and last but most definitely not least- drumroll please- your desperate need for parental approval.”

Damian, instead of being pissed, just sits there mulling it over. “Who does that make you- Aang?” 

Dick laughs off the insult, “Are you saying you’d cross the ocean to find me Dami?” 

If it had been anyone else, especially Tim, the kid would have hurdled over the table. His ego not allowing anyone to speak of his ‘affections’. As it is, all Damian can do is splutter as he flushes bright red, unable to deny it but unwilling to say nothing. 

“I’m kidding Dames- I’m totally your uncle Iroh anyways.” He starts pawning off some of his vegan meatloaf to Damian’s plate as if to prove just how paternal he is, not that anyone could ever doubt it. 

Tim snickers from where he sits, mostly silent. The two of them are commandeering almost all of the conversation at the table- Bruce is reading some League mission reports, Cass seems to be content with turning her food into little pictures of her with the Birds of Prey, and Jason just sits there glaring at the table, probably wishing he was out there offing some crime lords. Tim however is happy to sit there and listen to the two of them bicker. Because dammit if listening to Damian talk like a real kid doesn’t make Tim happy, even if he’s complaining. 

“Stop feeding me Grayson,” He grumbles, “If anything I should be giving you my portion.” 

And wait a minute- Dick does look thinner than usual. It’s not that noticeable unless you’re looking at his face. His cheekbones, already fairly hollowed out, are now borderline gaunt. He pulls it off though, with his model-like features his face just looks more alluring- which is probably why no one noticed his state. He had light bags under his eyes, only visible if one could tear their eyes away from his brilliant eyes, but definitely still there. And Jesus, his collarbone jutted out beneath his loose sweater. For a brief moment, Tim thinks he can see a dark bruise rising from his sternum, but Dick’s tugging his shirt up before he can decide if it’s just a shadow or not. 

Damian’s comment even has Bruce looking up, “Dick-”

“Calm down B, it’s just stress from moving.”

That’s got everyone paying attention now.

“Moving?”

“Way to let everyone know, Goldie.”

“Why on earth would you move, Grayson?”

Dick laughs lightly. Tim can’t tell if he seems happy about the move or not, because his expression has become oddly guarded. “Oh, honestly, you guys act like it’s the end of the world. I just needed a change I guess.” 

For some reason- and clearly everyone is thinking this- it does feel a bit like the world is ending. Dick’s apartment has been a safe haven for them over the years. A getaway that they seek out on slow weekends or a grounding presence when the manor is too far away. Somedays, it feels more like a home then Wayne Manor does. Where Bruce’s house is full of antique furniture, high arches, and drafty rooms; Dick’s home is decorated and lived in. From the notches in the doorway marking Lian’s growth to the walls covered in photos to even the bullet holes in the wall from Jason’s many tantrums- the personal touches have all found a way to make the run-down apartment more appealing than a billionaire’s mansion.

Tim is startled from his reverie as Dick abruptly shakes Damian’s shoulders, “Bruce is totally Hakoda. ‘Cause he’s this loving helicopter dad who also lets his children wander into active war zones!”

Bruce winces. 

“Hakoda’s a good dad, okay? He’s trying his best.” Tim finds himself looking for whoever spoke until he realizes it was in fact his dumbass who did.

Dick smiles back, eyes infuriatingly understanding- they all had that need to defend Bruce against any and all accusations. “Alright, Tim. I take it back.” His voice is soft, too soft in fact. That’s totally his Nightwing voice, not the one for criminals because that’s somehow scarier than Batman's voice- there’s just something so unsettling about hearing Dick sound so cold. No, it’s the one for the distressed civilians and crying kids, and that makes Tim want to scream. It feels like a taboo to even think this, but Dick Grayson is probably one of the best manipulators out there because it never feels like manipulation at all. 

“Well alright, then. If we’re invading people’s privacy with unasked for personality analysis,” Tim never thought he’d think this but thank god for Jason. “Then I’d like to know who I am.”

Dick pretends to think about it as if he hadn’t picked characters out for every person he’s ever met. He grins excitedly and shares a conspiratorial glance with Damian before he blurts out, “Definitely Toph. Because, like, hear me out now. Sarcastic, good at fighting, and…. blind- ‘cause I get that the helmet has eye holes in it but how the hell can you see through that thing?” He can clearly tell the tables still unconvinced so he quickly tacks on, “And she’s totally the asshole friend who everyone likes anyway.” 

Surprisingly, Jason lets the insult go. Personally, if it were Tim, he would’ve vehemently denied it. He shifts in his seat- because no matter how safe he feels now there’s still time for them to…

“Well, which one is Tim then?”

To drag him into this. Go figure.

“Don’t be stupid Grayson- Drake is obviously Azula.”

“What the hell?” Tim splutters because he has, first of all, never tried to kill Damian before and, second of all, if anything said brother is the Azula in this scenario. “Name one time I tried to kill you! The bar is so low right now because just this morning you threatened to replace my mouthwash with drain cleaner.”

Damian lets out an audible huff which for some reason feels vaguely threatening. Then to make matters worse he stares down Tim as he kebabs his meatloaf. His family is no help- Dick and Jason are arguing about whether or not Alfred would use anything chemical like drain cleaner while Cass eggs them on by making little hrrmps at whoever seems to be losing. 

“Oh please, Drake.” The brat sniffs, his haughty expression so reminiscent of his mother. “I’m certain everyone here remembers the list-”

“Hold On-!”

“-where you specified-”

“This is out of context!”

“-all the ways you could take down people; including me.”

Jesus fucking Christ. If Tim weren’t so opposed to murder, he probably would’ve reclaimed his position as youngest in the family right then and there. Of course, he remembers said list- you can’t be a paranoid control freak without creating a list ranking your allies on how likely they are to go, rogue- including of course alphabetized ways to take down such betrayers. Damian was on there, ranked somewhere below Cheshire but above Catwoman. If the list had been a collective thing he would’ve been lower, but Damian was still highly likely to let Tim get kicked around on the field before jumping in to help. 

Tim startles out of thought as Dick breaks into laughter. 

“Sorry, sorry.” He manages out, “ God, it’s just- did Damian ever tell you what happened after he found the list?” 

"Of course not.” 

Dick leans forward, absentmindedly running a hand through his curls- which are just now growing past his ears, “Well,” He grins, “Kid couldn’t sleep in his bed for a week. So I wake up for a week straight to him leering over me until I can coax him into bed. Dami’s a cuddler, guys. Beneath his prickly exterior, he’s a fucking limpet!”

Jason’s howling with laughter, hand repeatedly slapping the table as he tries to muffle his mouth with his other fist. Just imagining a mighty Al Ghul brought down by a single paragraph outlining their weaknesses enough to make him borderline hysteric. But Tim- Tim feels like a shitty person. When Damian had arrived he was surprisingly anxious and easy to spook, even more so when Bruce died and he lost the one person he felt gave him a right to call them family. Being labeled an enemy had probably been a debilitating blow to their relationship. 

Damian scowls, cheeking a burning red. For his benefit, the entire table pretends that they can’t see one hand slink under the table. They also pretend not to see Dick reach for it. Dick sends an apologetic look his way and Tim can just barely see Damian’s hand tighten briefly tighten- which looks pretty fucking painful- as retribution. 

Thankfully Dick had redirected the ire Damian felt for Tim. Whoop-de-fucking-doo. If there was one thing Tim had missed about Dick, it would have to be his ability to redirect Wayne anger. From his tenure as Robin with Bruce to his ever turbulent role as Damian’s brother, it had always been Dick who would step in and let them take any frustrations out on him. 

Next to him, Jason is doing a pretty impressive impression of a teakettle- although it is a little concerning how long he’s gone without air. As his wheezed die down, the hand stifling his noise moves away and he tries to gather himself. 

“If the young masters are done embarrassing one another, it should be around time for patrol.” 

Saved by the bell, or rather butler. 

“Alright kids, let's suit up. Dick- wrap your foot before we leave.” 

Dick frowns in response, “I actually have to meet up with someone for a case in Blud. I know that you’ll miss me terribly and patrol won’t be the same without my witty quips and jokes so- in preparation- I may have slipped some papers into Dami’s tool belt. Feel free to use one of my suggestions whenever Bruce’s dark aura gets too suffocating.” He laughs brightly as Damian shoves his shoulder, “Don’t hesitate to call if things get too busy tonight!”

He’s throwing that last bit back over his shoulder as he makes his way back out the door, leaving the rest of the family to hurry after him. As if his abrupt departure wasn’t suspicious enough, the way his eyes anxiously flicker definitely is. Out of all of them, Dick probably has the most contacts- having basically inherited all of Bruce’s along with most of his brother’s and the one’s he’s kept secret from the family. Surprisingly, Dick had never been all that forthcoming with information of his life and most of what he did in Bludhaven was unknown, much to Bruce’s dismay. So none of them had any clue at all what his ‘case’ could even be about, anyway.

“Who are you meeting without me, Grayson?”

“Hey, Dickhead- you didn’t eat anything!”

Cass just makes a disappointed noise at his retreating back. Bruce throws an arm over his son's shoulders, which Dick leans into, and Tim can just barely make out the words they're exchanging in hushed whispers. 

"You'll let me know if anything goes wrong. Jeez, I don't know why I'm so worried.

“Chum- I can handle them.”

“I know, I know. I just..”

“I get it, but we're working on that, right?”

“Of course I know this, I trust you B.”

“You’ll be number one on speed dial, okay?”

“ _ After  _ Alfred.”

“Fine, after Alfred.”

And that was a little bit concerning. If Dick- the Golden Child, the right hand of the Bat- found himself losing trust in Bruce, it had to have been something big. Dick did anything that Bruce asked, if with a lot of argument and complaining. He’d gone undercover, flirted with targets, and done more missions for Bruce than anyone else. 

Hanging back a bit, Tim grabs a hold of Jason’s arm to stop him. From around the corner, he can hear everyone exchanging their goodbyes and Damian’s nonstop pestering to get answers. 

“Jason,” He hisses, flinching back slightly at his brother's glare. “Dick’s being weird about Bruce.”

Jason just huffs, “Dick’s always weird about Bruce. He’s hung up on him like a lovesick puppy- only this puppy fakes his death and becomes an international spy. Like, Bruce would never have had any of us do it-”

“That’s not what I meant. It sounds- It sounds as if he doesn’t trust Bruce anymore.”

Jason freezes, mouth hanging open. Tim gets it, Bruce and Dick were the original Dynamic Duo, they trusted each other more than anyone else in the world. 

“It has to be something recent- after Dick joined Spyral. He wouldn’t have gone if shit went down right before.”

Bruce had done a lot to Dick. Fired him, hit him, practically disowned him, but none of that had crossed whatever line Dick had. Anything major would have some kind of trail- paper or otherwise. Which would mean-

“The fucking file. Whatever it is in that file.”

Jason straightens, probably having reached that same conclusion.

Jason brushes past him, skillfully evading Tim’s hands as he reaches to grab him back, “Hey B, why don’t you give Babs the night off so I can man comms and Tim can handle the radio?”

Bruce looks understandably confused, Jason was usually a guns ablaze kind of guy, not one to willingly miss patrol.

Let them miss it, Father. Batman has no need for either of them.”

Tim bites back his words, usually whenever the two of them argued Bruce would pair them up for patrol and that would probably be the worse thing to happen tonight.

Because tonight, they were going to get answers. Tonight, they would be hacking into personal files, looking through information Dick probably didn’t want them to know, and then using whatever they found to their advantage. God, no one ever said family was easy. 


	4. but my peace has always depended (on the ashes left behind in my wake)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Tim investigate the circumstances surrounding Dick's 'Death' and his subsequent spy work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me forever because I wanted to stay true to Dick's death and with the way Bruce 'convinced' him to stay dead, so I had to go find my copies of Forever Evil 16 and Nightwing 30, which wasn't easy, and then turn like twenty pages worth of content into a written story. Anyways, both of those 'videos' are almost completely accurate with some slight editorializing for it to make sense. The voicemail is my own though.
> 
> The bolded words are like that too match the comic print. 
> 
> MOST IMPORTANTLY: I want to be clear about some of Jason's thoughts in this because he states as fact that Dick was Bruces favorite and that Bruce had never tried to avenge him. The second is for sure false, he just doesn't know that Bruce had tried but been stopped by Superman. As for Dick being Bruce's favorite, it can be argued that any of them are but each brother pretty much thinks anyone other then them are his favorite. Just wanted to get that out of the way!

After so many years of working together- even the nonconsecutive ones when people died or got lost in the timestream, which are both fairly common hobbies for them- they were able to get ready for patrol fairly quickly and quietly. Except for fucking Damian. 

Even as the kid sequestered himself in one of the many changing rooms of the cave, his voice still carried to every one of them, it didn’t help at all that the general form of the cave was designed to funnel every fucking noise towards the main computer area. Like Jason totally got that by doing this Bruce could maintain his ‘mystique’ about knowing anytime someone entered the cave, but when it came to Damian’s nasally voice it was more a drawback than a benefit. 

“I swear to god,” Tim muttered, rubbing his index fingers into his forehead- probably in preparation for a Damian induced headache, “If he doesn’t stop his complaining I’m gonna- I’m gonna. Fuck, I don’t know but it won’t be good.” He slumped in his seat and crossed his arms, casting furtive glances over to where Bruce was. 

Jason nodded, a silent show of both agreement and solidarity, “Maybe we can convince Dickhead to take him for a week since he’s so fucking obsessed with him.” 

In typical Damian fashion, he was lamenting the fact that ‘Grayson had begun keeping secrets because you plebeians ran him off with your horrible treatment of him’. It was non stop, the only breaks being his occasional silence as he presumably tugged a piece of his Robin tunic over his head. That was definitely not something Jason missed about being Robin- the insane amount of layering had always left his hair messy and wild and not in the seductive-sex-hair kinda way that Dick rocked unashamedly. 

For some reason, Damian’s comment was still bothering him, the words echoing in his brain. Had he really left because of how they acted at dinner? They hadn’t been that different than usual. Same angry glances, same backhand comments, same everything. He’d never left in such a hurry like that before and when he did he’d still say his goodbyes. 

Dick was a master manipulator- and this wasn’t Jason being mean, Dick Grayson was a manipulative motherfucker who maneuvered situations like a chessboard- always four moves ahead and forcing people to play into his hands. His disarming grins and brilliant blue eyes could sway anyone because when it came to Dick, the cards were always in his hands. But the excuses he was bullshitting lately had been downright pathetic. Anything from laundry to cases had been used to get him out of patrol. Hell, he’d even gone awol for almost a week about a month ago with no explanation. 

Dick was hiding shit and they were going to figure out. ‘Cause that had to be it, they hadn’t driven him away or forced him out, he had to be keeping secrets. 

Jason shifted off of his chair, the sudden motion sending it rolling backward with a horrible screech. Damian went silent, but it wasn’t too long until he came storming out- jaw clenched and a single accusatory finger aimed at Jason. 

“Oh my God.” Tim groaned, 

Even Cass seemed done with him. Stalking out in full Black Bat costume, face set with an expression that would bring any criminal to tears- Jason had seen it happen- she made her way to Damian who- in a moment so unlike himself- flinched with what had to have been fear. She grabbed him by his outstretched finger, ignored his whimpers as her ironlike grip tightened, and dragged him towards the Batmobile. 

Jason snickered, it felt good to see the kid knocked down a peg or two. He would’ve done it himself if he could get away with it like she could, but it was Cass only who Bruce let do things like that. From inside the car, he could barely make out the two of them arguing. 

Muttering under his breath, probably lamenting the fact he’d acquired so many children, Bruce made his way to the car. He ran one hand through his hair, the gloves uncomfortably catching a little, but it was a habit for him- the gesture of a dad over his children’s bullshit. 

“You sure you want to skip patrol?” With every word his voice dropped a little, shifting from Bruce Wayne to Batman, completing the transformation with the placement of his cowl, “You’ll be missing out on some enlightening conversation.”

To anyone else, it would seem an honest offer or a joke making play of Damian’s attitude but Jason could read him. Without Dick, Damian would be almost impossible to deal with and if the two of them came patrol would go one of two ways. Either their presence would provide a buffer between Cass and Damian or the kid would turn his anger back on them, which was never fun. Besides, comms would be hilarious tonight. 

“Course I want to. There’s nothing in the world that would make me go. You’re on your own B and they’re never shutting up.”

Jason grinned at him, letting the smirk go borderline mean. It was a scummy smile, the kind usually on the faces of crooks and criminals, but he could pull it off and it honestly felt great to aim it at Bruce- who just shook his head in response. But that wasn’t enough to deter him, it felt pretty fucking great to not be the source of Bruce’s bad mood. 

Ignoring their byplay, Tim was methodically running through the final checks of all the necessary gear- grappling hooks, earpieces, and three utility belts. It was a thorough process, failure to complete a step could result in injury or death, neither of which Jason would recommend. Lately, it had been more of a necessity seeing as one bodycam had gone ‘mysteriously’ missing- everyone was fairly certain Tim had lost it when he went up against Ivy and had most of his suit torn to tatters. Since then, his obsessive tendencies had redirected towards the remaining tech. Who lost it didn’t matter though, they’d been one short ever since which meant there were no extras- Bruce was too paranoid to allow for more than the necessary amount of camera in the cave and the newest order had yet to arrive. But this didn’t matter right now, they’d already made the allotted amount of jokes at Tim anyways. 

Next to him, Bruce was adjusting his earpiece to fit within the cowl and he strode to the computer to correct the frequencies and synch it with the others. With no small amount of hesitance, Tim grabbed the hooks and cams to bring to the car, only fumbling slightly as gathered them but Jason made no moves to help him. 

Then they were finally preparing to leave. At the last moment, Jason called out, ”If the chatter on comms is too much then I’ll mute Cass or Damian- probably Robin ‘cause he annoys me more. Just let me know or they’ll never shut up.”

At this, Bruce smirked, “I’ll make them, then.” 

Jason froze. Any other day he’d be offering back his customary good luck salute but tonight it didn’t sit right with him. He’d seen Bruce shut Dick up- watched the punch land heavily and, even without seeing the aftermath, knew the bruising had to have been grisly. Knew his cheek would’ve started as a deep purple hue before mellowing out to a mottled mess of greens and purples and yellow. And Bruce, well, he hit hard.

At dinner, he couldn’t take his mind off it. He’d barely been able to lift his eyes from the table because if he did, if he caught a glimpse of Bruce and Dick talking so calmly- as if the abuse hadn’t happened- then he wouldn’t have been able to control himself. 

Jason had little tolerance for abusers and the Red Hood had less. 

It helped, though, that Jason was sure Bruce had never hit his other children. Because if he had, they would’ve blabbed to everyone, hell if it had been Jason he wouldn’t have wasted a second- let alone Dick’s seven years of silence- to shout it from the rooftops. Bruce and Dick had a relationship that no one could understand because Dick treated Bruce as if pleasing the man was the goal of life. Dick could be halfway ‘round the world, up to his neck in his own problems, but he’d still drop everything to come to Bruce’s aid. That was their most basic difference- at their very core, they were both terribly selfish creatures but in the most fundamentally different ways. Bruce was a people collector and he prided himself on having the most loyal of soldiers and if one of them left then he’d never be satisfied until he’d ensnared them back- and Dick had a terrible habit of wandering. Dick, though, his came in an incredibly surprising way. For a man who wore a skin-tight suit and couldn’t go anywhere without commanding a room, he sure was a private thing. He told no one anything and kept more to himself than Bruce ever did. Because while Bruce kept secrets until his big reveal, Dick was the type to bring everything to his grave. People could come to him with their darkest secrets and treat him like their own personal confession box, and Dick would give comforting phrases and a shoulder to cry on, but he never allowed himself to do the same. And if Bruce was selfish for his collection of people, then Dick was equally as guilty with his secrets. 

What else was Dick hiding, why couldn’t he trust anyone, wha-

Someone snapped their fingers in front of his face. The green tint, which he hadn’t even noticed, cleared and he could make out Tim’s worried face hovering in front of him. The anger rushed out of him, and he felt impossibly sad all of the sudden. 

“Get your fingers the hell out of my face.” If Tim noticed the tremble in his voice, then he ignored it, instead swiveling to face the screens once more. Unlike last time, seven of the screens were active. Three on the side showing the suit recordings, one monitoring the police radio, one split into even smaller videos of cameras from around the city, one showing the caption version of the comms, and the final with nothing on it. It was on the last one they would be, well, snooping. 

Thankfully for them, it was Thursday which, oddly enough, was the least crime heavy day of the week. Tim had broken it into statistics awhile back- which days had the most robberies, the day most likely to have fires, and so on and so forth. Jason didn’t care about this shit, he didn’t need numbers because he could usually just pick up rumors on the street and he was sort of work acquaintances with most major mobsters and they could be heard boasting their plans in every fucking corner of Gotham’s underground. The source didn’t really matter, the only importance was that they could be fairly lax at surveillance tonight and could focus more on the research. 

Tim was busy sorting through every item, running programs to list them by date and similar titles. In the end, there were about 50 items relating to the Spyral incident- most of them being audio recordings with a couple of videos thrown in. 

“Well,” Tim leaned back, the creak of his chair echoing ominously throughout the cave, ”We might as well start at the beginning- his fake death.” 

Already the video was pulled up, the words glaring at them from the screen, ‘Lex Luthor Altercation’. They knew most of the story, having seen the broadcasting of his public unmasking, but after that was mostly just speculation. He readied himself, shifting his weight so he could get closer to the screen. Tim let the video play. 

_ It opened in what appeared to be a warehouse. In the center was Dick, strapped into a large machine, his face bloody and bruised, barely able to lift his head to look at Bruce who stood in front of him, desperately trying to free his son. The day’s Dick spent with the Crime Syndicate certainly appeared to have taken a toll on him, but it was his eyes that were the most upsetting. They were dull, seemingly resigned to his inevitable death and they flickered between Batman and the bomb’s timer.  _

_ “Please,” He pleaded, a single tear dripping down his cheek and making it’s way through the grime and blood, “Listen to me… You still have time to get yourself out of here.”  _

_ Bruce’s reply was sharp, “I am not leaving you, Dick. I am not abandoning you.” His jaw was locked in determination and he lowered himself down to the bombs level. _

_ "You aren’t Bruce, and you never have. Go, take care of everyone here and I’ll take care of Damian.”  _

_ At that moment, it seemed all his energy left him, and his head slumped onto his chest. With hooded eyes, he watched Bruce fiddle with the wiring, still except for small the shivers he’d give as machinery brushed against his stomach.  _

_ “No.. the wires..” Bruce murmured, “Every time I disconnect a relay it  _ **_fixes_ ** _ itself.”  _

_ The machine next to Dick began beeping rapidly, matching his nervous, fluttery heartbeat. The sound echoed in the room and Bruce tensed. Dick smiled apologetically, opening his mouth to speak.  _

_ “Then there’s only one way to disarm this bomb, Batman.”  _

_ Luthor.  _

_ A stream of green light hit Bruce and he fell to the floor, gasping for breath as his cape sizzled, not quite on fire but very near to catching alight.  _

_ Catwoman ran into view, blocking Luthor from Dick, “What the hell are you doing, Luthor?” She cracked her whip menacingly but as it made it finished its arc it was grabbed by a great, hulking thing wearing a raggedy Superman suit- Bizzaro he was called. He tugged Selina and the two engaged into an off-camera battle. _

_ Luthor moved towards Dick, bald head shining in what would have been a humorous way if not for the menacing expression on his face, “I’m making an executive decision, Catwoman. I’m saving our lives..” His hand smacked into Dick’s mouth, catching on his nose and making it impossible to breathe. “By ending his. I’m sorry Mr. Grayson.” The sound of his heart rate picked up and his eyes filled with fear. The noise filling the cave so loudly, it was difficult to make anything out besides its- _

_ BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP _

**_“Luthor_ ** _?!” Batman roared. His angry snarl, though it made the man flinch, didn’t make Luthor lift his hand.  _

_ BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP _

_ Bizarro shot forth a breath of flame, sweeping it widely and Batman was forced to tear his eyes away from his son.  _

_ BEEPBEEPBEEP _

_ Batman slipped on his Kryptonian Ring and, in a sudden burst of motion, punched Bizarro away. “Luthor,” He yelled, “Hurt him and I will  _ **_kill_ ** _ you!” _

_ BEEPBEEP _

_ The timer was down to a minute. Luthor pressed harder. _

_ BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP _

_ Luthor stepped back and, without his hand, Dick’s head slumped to his chest. There was no movement. The sound of his blood dripping to the floor replaced the noise of the heart monitor.  _

_ Bruce let out an inhuman noise- half an enraged scream and half a desperate sob. He flew at the man and pinned him before striking him in a never-ending stream of hits, “You  _ **_murderer_ ** _!” _

_ The hand pushing him to the ground moved onto his neck and as he slowly turned from pink to purple, he whispered the words, “I have this.. Under control...Grayson… mnph.”  _

_ Batman froze, lips pulled back into a snarl and chest heaving, his bloody fist still pulled back in preparation to strike. He shook his head and his hand joined the other on Luthor’s neck, tightening as he spat, “You  _ **_murdered_ ** _ Nightwing.” _

_ One of Luthor’s hands fluttered next to his body, a mockery of the tap outs used in wrestling, as the other twitched to grab onto Batman’s cape, pulling on it in a last-ditch effort to get his attention. He tugged it desperately until it became too much effort and the hand fell to his chest where he, unbeknownst to Bruce, began to fiddle with some of the tech on it.  _

_ Selina ran to Batman and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Batman- You said this Lightning Rod was from the future! Maybe we can use it to save him or something? I don’t know-” _

_ "Luthor  _ **_killed_ ** _ Dick Selina.” He twisted out from under her hand and lifted Luthor’s head off the ground. As he began to slam it towards the ground, Luthor’s hand flipped a switch on his suit and- _

_ ‘Electrical charge activated’ _

_ Batman flew back and Luthor scrambled to his feet and began hacking violently, one hand reaching up to massage his bruised throat. _

_ Barely able to speak, he managed to get the words out, “If I hadn’t stopped Grayson’s heart, this  _ **_‘Murder Machine’_ ** _ would have detonated and we all would have died. I had to make a choice, Batman. I made him  _ **_flatline_ ** _..” He opened a hidden compartment in his glove, “.. After I forced him to swallow a Cardioplegia pill.” _

_ Selina helped Bruce roll over and he leaned heavily onto his knees.  _

_ “A _ **_what_ ** _?” She asked. _

_ Bruce glanced up at her, “A drug that paralyzes the cardiac muscles surrounding the heart.” _

_ “And,” Luthor continued, now brandishing a needle and syringe, “If this  _ **_boy’s heart_ ** _ doesn’t get a shot of adrenaline right this very _ **_second_ ** _ then he’s going to _ **_stay_ ** _ dead.” _

_ With that, he injected it into Dick’s shoulder. For a single moment, nothing happened and then Dick’s entire body gave a shudder and he began coughing. The blood that flew out made Luthor’s lips curl in distaste.  _

_ “Dick?” Batman whispered.  _

_ “I told you I had it under control. There was no need to worry-” _

_ He was cut off as Bruce ran past to help Dick out. With a barely audible ‘Batman?’, Dick fell into his arms and clung to him, fists clenching desperately into Bruce’s cape. Bruce, in return, settled on hand on Dick’s back while the other threaded comfortingly through his hair.  _

_ “- About him.” Luthor finished with a sigh.  _

_ The video ended.  _

Jason stared at the screen, jaw clenched. Honestly, if he tried to speak he felt he would cry. Dick had really died. Dick had died and they had all given him shit about it. Dick had- Dick had. 

“I’m gonna puke.”

Jason lurched around, just barely catching sight of Tim’s pale face before the kid stumbled to the ground to grab the wastebasket. He turned to give Tim privacy, even as he could hear his wretching. Finally, it was quiet again. 

There were a million things flying around Jason’s minds but if someone put a gun to his head he wouldn’t be able to vocalize a single one. 

Lex Luthor had killed Dick. Luthor, who had been to a Wayne Gala not more than a month ago, had stopped Dick’s heart and then started it again. 

Bruce had seen the whole thing but said nothing even as everyone hated on Dick.

Bruce would’ve killed Luthor if Dick died, something he’d never be willing to do for Jason. Everyone knew Dick was his favorite- Bruce had adopted him the youngest and he’d never been able to see Dick as anything other than his baby boy- but it still hurt to know it for real. 

But, most importantly, something happened at some point after this that had convinced Dick to go undercover for an entire fucking year. He had a sneaking suspicion that thing started with a ‘B’ and rhymed with juice. 

Next to him, Tim gurgled some water, eye’s distant as he rhythmically swished. Finally, he spoke, “It doesn’t make sense.” 

“Fucking course it didn’t, we just watched out brother die.” Jason interrupted. Shrugging apologetically as Tim flinched. 

“No- I mean yeah, but- the pill. The only one I can think of is Succinylcholine Chloride but that takes several minutes to kick in. I could be wrong, but the pill couldn’t have killed him in ten seconds. Luthor didn’t even make him swallow. I’m not sure, but- I think he smothered him. By closing off his mouth and nose which would stop-”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Jason interrupted, hands blocking his ears. God fucking dammit. 

“Why would Dick leave us after that?” Tim questioned, voice small. He looked like he was folding in on himself, knees tucked into his chest and arms crossed, pulling them into his chest. 

Tim knew the answer. They both did. 

“Find the clip.” 

Tim shook his head, “Don’t- Don’t you want to talk about this?”

No, he most definitely didn’t. He told Tim as much. Tim didn’t argue, just shook his head and began looking for the clip with the closest date. 

If Dick had really died, then maybe they really were responsible for his absences. He had actually, truly died. He’d gone the same way Steph had, but no one gave her shit for that. Hell, if anything everyone should’ve more pissed at her, for fucking off to another country for years! And Jason- Jason nearly killed Tim and Bruce almost a dozen times during his Pit Madness Period. But he’d gone to Arkham and, though he’d been bored out of his mind and though he may have killed a couple of people-97 inmates to be exact- he’d still gotten better and the family had forgiven him. It was pretty much taboo to mention it, one of those unmentionable triggers. They all had them- Damian flinched looking in mirrors, the image of Heretic haunting him, Cass couldn’t handle talk about her past kills- and they’d all been respected. But, Dick, who the hell knew how many hidden landmines they’d blown with him. The constant teasing about it, the stupid shitty jokes about his death, the way he’d probably talked with Luthor a dozen times after his return from Spyral. And Dick, he was the perfect martyr, he’d never tell them the truth about it. So why didn’t Bruce, how could he-

“Found it.”

Tim. Jason blinked rapidly, turning to look at Tim who stared at him expectantly. God, Jason was freaking out, hands shaking with nervousness he hadn’t felt since the first time he met Wonder Woman. 

If Bruce laid a single hand on Dick, Jason was gonna fucking kill him. Not trusting himself to speak, he just nodded. 

_ It started with Dick sitting up warily in a hospital image. It was a sad parallel to his firing; him confused and woozy and Bruce looming over him.  _

_ Finally, Bruce broke the silence, “Clark spoke at your funeral last week. It was a touching speech.” _

_ Dick’s breathing picked up and his brow furrowed, “Funeral? Why would I- They know I’m not dead, right? Right?”  _

_ “You were placed into a medically induced coma to allow your heart to recover.” _

_ Dick’s froze, mouth agape, unable to comprehend the sheer audacity of the man in front of him. “Why Bruce? How could you do this to me?” _

_ He didn’t answer the question. Instead, Bruce made his way to Dick’s bedside table and ruffled through the items in it until he came across hand cotton wraps for fighting which he threw onto Dick’s lap.  _

_ Hesitantly but methodically, he began to wrap his knuckles, stretching his fingers to regain the feeling after so long without movement. He seemed focused, but anyone with half a brain could see the tight coil of his body wasn’t from preparedness for battle, but rather something more akin to fear, and his body shifted to follow Bruce’s pacing, never once letting him out of sight.  _

_ “How many times have we done this? How many rules have I given you?  _ **_Where_ ** _ you fight?  _ **_How_ ** _ you fight? We’ve done this so many times. We’ve had so many rules. We need to do it again. You and me. I need to see if they  _ **_broke_ ** _ you. I need to see if you still have the  _ **_heart_ ** _ you once had. So one more time,  _ **_Dick._ ** _ But now there’s only  _ **_one_ ** _ rule-” _

_ He threw a domino mask onto Dick’s lap. _

_ “- You have to  _ **_win._ ** _ ” _

_ The video cut to the two of them standing in the middle of the cave, Bruce circling Dick like a predator does it’s prey, the light-catching menacingly on his Batman helmet- because that’s who this was, not Bruce who loved and raised Dick, but instead the Dark Night himself.  _

_ “You let the  _ **_Crime Syndicate_ ** _ capture you.” He spat, “You let them  _ **_torture_ ** _ you. You let them give your  _ **_secrets_ ** _ to the world.” _

_ Dick lept at him, shouting at him as he did, “You weren’t there.” _

_ “You let them turn you into a  _ **_bomb._ ** _ You let them _ **_kill_ ** _ you. Before Luthor rescued you, you let everyone  _ **_watch you die._ ** _ ”  _

_ As Batman swung to hit him, Dick lept over him, legs wide in a straddle, landing behind the man before he could even blink, “I was trying to  _ **_save_ ** _ people.” _

_ Batman recovered his groundings quickly, catching Dick’s attempt to catch his legs by striking his elbow into the boy’s face, “I trained you to  _ **_live_ ** _ , and I watched you  _ **_die_ ** _.” His yell echoed off the cave, those words of disappointment hitting DIck in the face repeatedly.  _

_ Dick fell to his knees, one hand coming up to catch the blood dripping from his bleeding- and probably broken- nose. He threw a worried glance at the drop behind him, somehow Batman had cornered him on a ledge, but the man didn’t look like he was going to be stopping anytime soon. _

_ A shadow fell over him and looked up to see Batman looming over him, “After that, I need to know if you can come back, if you’re  _ **_strong enough_ ** _ for what’s  _ **_next._ ** _ ” _

_ “Bruce, what  _ **_is_ ** _ this?” He asked desperately, his split-second hesitation costing him greatly. _

_ Batman caught him in a sweeping kick to the jaw, which sent him flying off the ledge, blood now flowing freely, the droplets flying through the air as he fell.  _

_ "I need to know if you’re strong enough to make the sacrifices we will always have to make.” He leaned over the ledge, watching as Dick crashed into a glass memorial, the shards digging into his back causing him to cry out in pain, “I have a  _ **_mission_ ** _ for you Dick.” _

_ Dick pushed himself onto one arm, wincing as the movement opened the wounds even more. He grit his teeth to stop him from making any noise but even that caused icy hot pain to flare in jaw, mouth bleeding from Batman’s kick. He was tangled in a cape, but as he went to stand up it pooled at his waist so he could just barely twist and make out the shape of Batman jumping down to him. _

_ “I need you to do something that will hurt your friends. Your family.” He called, striding towards Dick. _

_ “Bruce, what the  _ **_hell_ ** _ is going on?” He flopped to his knees, the hunching of his back flexing his shoulders and tugging on those tender wounds.  _

_ “Everyone thinks you’re  _ **_dead_ ** _ I need you to  _ **_stay_ ** _ dead.” _

_ In a move that caught Batman off guard, Dick struck him in the stomach and he flung back with an oof. Grabbing the cape that he had been tangled in, Dick lept at Batman, the cape flying down over the man like a deadly rope and Dick pulled it taut against his neck.  _

_ “Good. Fight. Fight like a man who can’t be  _ **_captured._ ** _ Who won’t be  _ **_killed._ ** _ ” He egged on, grinning at nothing in particular. His breathing turned labored as Dick twisted around, using his back to hold up Batman’s weight as he used the man’s gravity against him, making it almost impossible to breathe. Yet, he spoke anyways, “Fight like you’re  _ **_alive._ ** _ ” _

_ Dick threw Batman over his shoulder, smacking the man into the ground so forcefully, the breath knocked out of him for a minute. Dick hunched over, resting on his knees, breathing heavily from both the physical exertion and the emotional toll this was taking. Behind him, Batman fumbled for the giant dice a few feet away. He threw it and with a thundercrack, it struck him and he cried out with pain as it dug into the bleeding skin.  _

_ “ _ **_Spyral_ ** _ the espionage group.” _

_ “No. I won’t do it.” Dick called back, running for the T-Rex. On the ground, his chances of beating Batman weren’t good but up there, in the air, his odds got considerably better, “I can’t  _ **_stay_ ** _ dead. I can’t do that to them.” _

_ Batman followed him, hands reaching for Dick’s feet to pull him down, “They fight the  _ **_usual_ ** _ evil around the world.” _

_ “But.. _ **_Tim_ ** _?” He sent a flying kick at Batman, sending him stumbling back a few steps. Trapped on the T-Rex head, Dick fumbled for a tooth and brandished towards Batman.  _

_ “Terrorists. Murderers. The cowardly and superstitious.” Batman carried on, side-stepping each of Dick’s jabs, one hand pulling back to strike him. _

_ Even as Batman’s fist came flying towards his face, Dick spoke, “ _ **_Jason_ ** _?” The hit caught him under his chin, and he flung off the head, falling towards the computer monitors below.  _

_ “A lot of people fight  _ **_that_ ** _ fight these days.” _

_ Dick was falling, falling, falling, his words almost unhearable as the wind howled in his ears but he could just barely make out his yell of, “ _ **_Alfred_ ** _?”  _

_ He twisted, landing heavily on his ankles and for a minute he thought they were broken. As he took stock of his injuries, he missed Batman jumping down after him and the kick that sent him crashing into the computers behind him. They fell down around him and he felt the layer of bruising forming on his back. He lay there, gasping for breath, his words no more than a whisper, “ _ **_Barbara_ ** _?” _

_ His vision swimming, he could just barely make out the blurry shape of Batman’s cowl as he stared down at Dick’s body. His words held a strange weight to them and Dick’s ears felt like they had been filled with cotton, but he could hear them all the same, “Spyral is the best.” _

_ He nudged Dick’s leg with his foot, “I know they’re the best because it took me this long to figure out what they’re doing  _ **_underneath_ ** _ all of that.” _

_ Curling around Batman’s extended leg, Dick rocked against it, sending the man straight into the rubble he had been in, “I  _ **_can’t_ ** _.” _

_ Sprinting, Dick tried to make his way to the Batmobile, the sound of Batman’s footsteps pounding behind him. _

_ He could hear Batman yelling, “They’re  _ **_hunting_ ** _ masked heroes.” _

_ "They’re my  _ **_family,_ ** _ Bruce.” _

_ The only warning he got was the slight rocking of the car, before he felt Batman slam into him, sending him down, his back arching in a way most people wouldn’t have been able to do. The Bat didn’t let up though, he jumped straight up before using his full body weight to land on Dick, “They want our  _ **_identities._ ** _ ” _

_ Pressed up against the car, cheek digging into the unforgiving metal and a knee keeping him down, Dick barely got out a, “If I’m dead, if they think I’m dead-” before he was somehow in the air and knocking into one fo the bikes.  _

_ “Our _ **_secrets._ ** _ ” _

_ “After Damian?” He tried desperately.  _

_ Batman ignored his words and, with a well-placed kick broke the motorcycle into two halves, “Who we hate, who we  _ **_love._ ** _ ” He turned to Dick.  _

_ “They’re family.  _ **_My family!_ ** _ ” _

_ When the kick came, Dick was ready, and he used the momentum to send himself towards the construction crane.  _

_ “They’re looking for who we really are, Dick.” Batman called. _

_ He turned his head, “I can’t do it to them..” _

_ “Who we have to pretend to be.” _

_ "..I just can’t.” He finished lamely.  _

_ Batman followed him to the crane, and in midst of their punch exchanges and animalistic circling, somehow Dick was the one pushing the other up the crane. With no way down and Dick forcing him back, Batman was getting closer to the sudden drop.  _

_ “We won’t let them do it.” _

_ Dick’s response was shaky, “I’m alive, Bruce.” _

_ “ _ **_You_ ** _ can’t let them do it.” _

_ “I’m  _ **_alive!_ ** _ ” With a desperate scream, Dick lunged and caught Batman in a move that was half hug and half tackle, sending them both off the edge and onto the car below. _

_ It could’ve been his mind playing tricks or just the wind in his ear, but when Batman pulled their heads together, Dick could’ve sworn he could hear bruce whisper in his ear, catching only the word good, “Good.” Before they were landing on the car. The hood crunched beneath them, both of them now bleeding heavily.  _

_ Dick, having landed on Batman was already hunched over the man, fist pummeling his jaw. In between hits, Batman spoke, “If they know our secrets, we won’t be able to  _ **_fight_ ** _.” _

_ He didn’t let up, his punches became more brutal, “How can you ask me to do this, Bruce?” Blood dripped into his and mouth, blinding him just long enough for Batman to get the upper hand and send him flying.  _

_ “Do you know how many people will  _ **_die_ ** _ if we can’t fight?” He roared, watching as Dick smacked into the center platform, the sound of his head colliding with the concrete so loud it was a wonder it didn’t break. _

_ He didn’t know how long he was lying there, head pounding so loud it was like a hammer was hitting his skull. The top of his head was bleeding heavily and he couldn’t make out very much of his surroundings and even then, it was mostly shades of black with bright white specks.  _

_ “How can you do this to me?” He slurred, every word making more nauseous than the last. _

_ He could hear the echoes of Batman’s steel-toed boots getting closer, “We need a man inside. Finding out what Spyral knows. What they  _ **_want_ ** _ to know. We need you.” _

_ Dick rolled over, spitting the blood out of his mouth as Batman continued his speech, “They’ll come for you now. They’ll want someone like you. Someone off the grid who knows our secrets. If you’re not dead, they’ll come for you. A masked man without a  _ **_mask.”_ **

_ He felt like a coward, begging on his knees in front of Batman, but he couldn’t stop the words from falling out, “After  _ **_everything,_ ** _ how can you put  _ **_this_ ** _ on me?” _

_ “Why do we fall, Dick?” He asked instead, “We fall so we can learn to get back up.” _

_ “No.” Dick spat, rising to his knees, “No, that’s not true. We fall because someone  _ **_pushes_ ** _ us. We get up to  _ **_push back._ ** _ ” _

_ He rose to his feet, blinking to fight off the onset of dizziness. He went to punch Batman, but the world seemed to slow down and it felt like he was watching this happen from outside his body. As Batman moved, his whole body seemed to blur and Dick couldn’t tell where he was supposed to aim. All he knew for sure, was the salt in his mouth was blood and tears and that his father had made him like this. “Things can’t be the same.” he said.  _

_ Batman either didn’t hear or he just didn’t care, but he blocked Dick’s feeble attempt at a hit and returned with one of his own, “I know the other heroes. I know them all.” He started, “I’d have them do it, but they  _ **_can’t._ ** _ They’d fight, but eventually they’d  _ **_give up_ ** _ , they’d give in. And Syral would you use them to the rest of us.” _

_ Dick swayed on his feet, “After this, Bruce, after asking this, between us- it can’t be the same again.”  _

_ The barrage of attacks didn’t stop, “I know. I’m hurting you. My family. I’m making that sacrifice because  _ **_I_ ** _ don’t give up. I don’t give in. But what about you. Are you  _ **_them?_ ** _ Or are you  _ **_me?_ ** _ After the Crime Syndicate captured you, tortured you,  _ **_killed_ ** _ you- tell me Dick, my boy, after all of this-” _

_ The punch that came was blinding, blacking his vision for a second, maybe more. _

_ “- Will you  _ **_give up?_ ** _ Or will you give  _ **_in?_ ** _ ” _

_ There were more important things to focus on, but how dare that man- how could he have the audacity to say that after all of this, how could he call him that? _

_ His face hardened, the blood an ominous warpaint over an already frightening expression. “I’m not your  _ **_boy._ ** _ ” He roared, tackling Batman to the ground. They rolled for a few seconds before Batman shoved Dick off and the two fell apart. They lay there, catching their breath, and when Dick tried to stumble to his feet, Batman just tugged him down again.  _

_ “That’s enough.” _

_ "No.” Dick growled. He was tired now that they had stopped moving and even as the adrenaline left him, the paranoia didn’t. He was wary as Bruce took the helmet off, flinching every time one of his hands brushed Dick’s arms, “It’s never enough. One rule. I win.” _

_ And there, in the ruins of the cave, Bruce brought one arm around Dick’s shoulder’s, tugged him close, and whispered into his hair, “Good.” _

_ Dick was gone within the hour. _

“I’m going to kill him.”

The world seemed to have sped up, Jason blinked and one moment he’d gone from his chair to across the cave loading his guns, Tim screaming at him to stop. 

The kid was still staring at the screen. Jason though, Jason felt like if he sat there for one moment more he was gonna scream. Bruce had beat the living shit out of his ‘favorite’ son and then sent him packing. 

Jason was just going to return the favor. 

“Fuck, Jason, stop. Please, just...just stop. You half to stop.” Tim was staring at him, face streaked with tears and eyes just imploring him to listen. 

Jason was done listening. Robin may have been a good son, but the Red Hood was no goddamn soldier. He had a reputation, a legacy, of stopping men like Bruce. It was one thing on back ally streets but in his fucking home? Unforgivable. 

He couldn’t see straight- lungs heaving and head buzzing- and the familiar green tint began washing over everything. He was gonna- He was gonna-

And then Dickvoice started echoing through the cave.

_ “God, Jay would love it here. You know, I took him skiing once and he couldn’t stop staring at the stars; said he’d never seen anything like it ‘cause in Gotham, you couldn’t even see the top of buildings through the smog. I tried to teach him the stars my Dad taught me but he was so distracted by the sheer number that he could focus on just a couple. But, if he thought Asen was pretty, I think he’d find La Palma breathtaking. Tim, though, he’s a genius but he’s never left Gotham, I love the kid, but it’d be nice to teach him something for once. And Dami-Dami wouldn’t like it, he’d be to busy with the wildlife. He’s probably with Bathound right now, maybe our parents are there too, huh. God, I miss him, the rest of you too of course, but- Fuck, I miss that kid. Anyway, it’s been about nine months since I left and six since you stopped responding to my calls. And, Bruce, I’m so fucking sorry I failed you. I get it, if you stopped replying because of that, but the missions been done for a month and you haven’t pulled me out yet- I’m starting to think you never will so this is it, it’s my last message. Mr. Malone, can I please come home. Birdwatcher out.”  _

All at once, he snapped back to himself. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I gotta go, Timbo. I promise I won’t kill him- I just need to get out of here”

A hand snatched his wrist as he turned to leave and when he turned to see Tim standing behind him, a tape recorder clutched in one hand, his thumb still on the stop button. 

“I can’t let you leave now.”

“‘Cause you can’t trust me,” Jason spat bitterly, “You think I’m gonna go after him still.”

Tim hesitated, “No, it-it’s not that. We have comm duty.” If not for the fucking stutters, Jason would have, well, not believed him but would have listened. 

“Fucking fine, Tim.” He shrugged off his weaponry and emptied his holsters. He would’ve thrown them at the kid for good measure, but he liked his guns, so settled on putting them back nicely and throwing an icy glare over his shoulder. 

“I’m going to Dick’s. Talk to Bruce- or I will.”

He swung a leg over his motorcycle and, without a backward glance, started his drive to Bludhaven. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment below whether you want the next chapter to be a hurt/comfort one with Dick and Jason or Tim confronting Bruce. (I already have a lot of the first but the second would fit the back and forth POV's better ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ )


	5. celebrate and be glad (because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Jason argue, hug, and cry some manly tears
> 
> ft. Dicks martyr complex and Jason's discovery of comforting others

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> straying from the song title theme by using a bible quote, but it's been stuck in my mind for days and felt too perfect. I added the lil diary entry because I had some mini quotes on an abandoned doc that I wanted to include and also because a chapter of this story isnt complete without privacy invasion.
> 
> ALSO, this is mostly unedited because I wanted to get it out as quickly as possible. My high schools has started online learning and that's gonna shorten my writing time so expect a lot of late-night writing in the future.

Jason was about halfway to Bludhaven when he remembered he didn’t have Dick’s address. Thankfully, though, he had Babs. 

A normal, completely sober Babs was fairly easy to work with, but after a few drinks and a night out with Dinah Lance, well, it was like herding a blind cat. 

He stopped his bike on the bridge between the two cities and settled himself on the ledge, legs kicking aimlessly over the side. Through her giggles, she’d let him know it would be a few minutes as she had to track down his financial records and follow the money and blah blah blah. All he got from it was that he’d have time to cool down and finish a cigarette. 

God, what the hell was he doing. It was late as fuck, and here he was chasing down his estranged brother to ask him why the fuck he’d been letting their ‘dad’ smack him around for shits and giggles without telling anyone. 

He took a long drag and inhaled out slowly, watching as the smoke mingled with the deep Gotham smog before disappearing completely. His brother was a goddamn idiot. 

Dick Grayson was a martyr dressed as a saint. He was the safety net to half the people he’d ever met and on speed dial for the other half. And even if he’d have to drop everything to come to someone’s aid, he’d never let them know what he had waiting for him at home. They’d stumble over apologies about dragging him away from whatever he was doing, but he’d just flash a crooked smile at them and bullshit about waiting by the phone for something to do. 

And he’d pile on someone’s issues onto his own and then another and then another until he was unable to do anything but wobble at the knees underneath the weight of it all and crash at his apartment, resting up for another day of the same old shit. Why couldn’t he trust people? Why couldn’t he share his burden? Why couldn’t he- 

Jason hissed, flinching back from where he’d absentmindedly touched the lit cigarette. Sucking on the burn, he let the cigarette fall into the river below, deep into the smog until the only sign it was there was the soft ‘plop’ of it hitting the water. 

He wondered if Dick’s death had hurt. Was it like Jason’s, long and drawn and out and horribly painful? Or was it like his cigarette burn, a burst of pain, and then nothing? For Jason, Dick’s death was painful. It wasn’t like the pain of a bullet or a fucking crowbar, but it had hurt all the same, maybe even more. Because he’d survived the first two, but the third, the third had nearly killed him. 

He hadn’t known it at the time, none of them had, but Dick was the backbone of their fucked up family. Without him, they were just a bunch of mostly orphans in desperate need of therapy that all just fucking coexisted together. And they could call themselves a family and throw the word around until it had no fucking meaning at all, but none of them had a single clue about what it really meant to be one. Except for Dick. He gave the word meaning, gave it a purpose. And they’d grumble and complain, but inside they liked his enthusiasm at pretending to be a normal family, with his weekly dinners and monthly movie nights. Jason still had those marked on his calendar, and once a week for an entire year, he’d stare at that notification suppressing the urge to chuck his phone at the wall. For a long time, Jason couldn’t even go in Dick’s wing at the manor, because even though Dick hadn’t lived in the manor for years, his death still made the halls feel both suffocating and oddly empty, too silent without Dick’s laughter echoing throughout. 

There was a saying that you are never more loved than when you are dead. For Jason, it had been true, or at least he thought so. It sure felt like it; he’d died and came back to a legacy and a statue. Dick, though, had returned to fists and anger. 

Jason huffed, shifting a little as the cold soaked into his jeans and jacket. Babs better hurry the fuck up. He had a brother to confront after all. 

He wondered if he’d be the first person to ask Dick about what went down, the first to get him to open up. It was a nice, highly improbable thought, but any attempt was good enough. Dick didn’t even know any of the shit they’d learn; he didn’t know of the chaos he’d left behind. 

And they didn’t know of the chaos he held. 

Dick Grayson could free fall into shit like nobody else, and he could do it with a showman’s smirk and a fancy backflip or two. And he’d make his way out and dust off his tights and never speak of it again because if he didn’t tell them anything, it was pretty much guaranteed they’d never know. He’d save them all before saving himself, even if it meant letting Bruce beat the shit out of him. 

His phone lit up. Leaning back onto his arm, he fumbled for his phone and checked the address. Now, he didn’t know Bludhaven very well, but he was pretty sure the address put Dick’s new apartment right in the middle of the seediest parts of the city.

He stood, shaking the cold from his limbs and headed towards his bike again, swearing deeply as a car swerved to avoid hitting him. By his best guess, he was about half an hour away from Dick’s apartment, but he resigned himself to an hour ride because fuck Blüdhaven traffic was horrible. 

Slowly, his anger fizzled out, and in its place sat something cold and desperate. The icy wind nipped at his cheeks, and even his abnormally high body temperature wasn’t enough to keep him from shivering. 

To put it nicely, Dick’s apartment looked like a shithole. As he rounded the last corner, the building came into view in all its horrifying glory. It looked like a place that bred disease, with the crumbling and piss-stained brick walls. Grimacing, he nudged open the door with his foot, wincing as it creaked ominously. There wasn’t a doorman; instead, a mangy cat wound around his legs in greeting, and he ran a steel-toed boot across it in lieu of a hand- he wasn’t gonna risk it- before he resigned himself to make the trek to the top floor. 

Even without the address, Jason would’ve been able to tell Dick’s apartment from the rest, his being the only one with a fucking welcome matt. 

Before he could knock, the door swung open. Frozen, all he could do was stare at his brother. Now, Dick was the kind of person who seemed to roll out of bed dressed to the nines and hair artfully curled, so it felt really fucking good to catch him off guard. Donning sweats and a ratty Superman t-shirt, an awkward bulkiness underneath suggesting some sort of medical wrapping, Dick looked like he’d been getting ready for bed, which was odd considering it was prime patrol time. 

“Shouldn’t you be patrolling?”

“Why are you here?”

They spoke over each other, and Jason chuckled awkwardly. 

Thankfully, Dick just stepped aside and let Jason in, holding himself tightly like he was preparing for a fight- which this would inevitably turn into. 

For a moment, they were both silent, and Jason used the momentary awkwardness to take in the room. He’d clearly tried to cover the general ick of the place, polaroids and posters all over the walls and plants everywhere. From here, the faces were blurry, but based on the uniform colors they were of him and his old teams, smiling faces unaware of their futures. Most of them were probably dead. 

Dick cleared his throat, and Jason tore his eyes from a picture he swore was him and a teenage Dick, settling his gaze on his brother. 

“Patrol?” Jason prompted, shifting to remove his jacket and sling it over the couch. 

Dick smiled sheepishly, “I uh, fell down the stairs and headed back early.”

“Try again.”

“It’s the truth!” He spluttered, “Jesus, fine. I fell- err was pushed- off a roof and landed on a fire escape, which broke, and then next thing I knew, I was on the road.” 

Fucking hell. 

Using his greater bulk, Jason herded Dick to his coach, ignoring the way Dick protested, “Let me check your ribs, you idiot. Could’ve punctured a lung or something.” 

Just because the universe hated him, Dick seemingly decided to clam up out of nowhere. Sure he may have gone along with it all, but he sat with obvious unease, peering up at Jason with distrustful eyes and mouth narrowed in an expression so unlike his normal one. After a moment or two, Dick shimmied one arm out of his shirt to expose the clearly painful bruising layered on his left side.

Methodically unwrapping the shoddy, done in a hurry, bandages, Jason murmured quietly, “Take anything?”

As Dick opened his mouth to respond, Jason ran a gentle hand down his side, and Dick recoiled with a hiss. Jaw still clenched, he ground out a reply, “Not yet, didn’t want to accidentally fall asleep.” 

“You don’t actually have pain medication, do you.” It was phrased like a question, but Jason clearly knew the answer.

Dick rolled his eyes, “Yeah, I know it’s  _ irresponsible _ , but I’m waiting to find a certain medication.”  _ Liquid  _ medication Jason filled in, pills were taboo after their roll in his death. “Anway, I wasn’t expecting to lose any fights this badly.”

“You seem to be losing a lot lately,” Jason muttered without thinking. 

In an instant, Dick was across the coach, his body coiled in a way that  _ spoke  _ of danger, “What the hell is that supposed to mean.”

Why was it always a fight between them? 

“I just mean-” He started, voice falling away as he struggled to find the right phrasing. In the background, the TV was playing- some nature documentary about the ocean or something. Swallowing, Jason shifted to stare at that instead. “We saw the clip, with Luthor and the bomb.”

Dick flinched, “We?”

On-screen, a dolphin darted through a bubble and Jason let that distract him from the way Dick’s voice trembled, “Tim and I.”

What Jason wouldn’t give to be in the sea, free like the animals he saw. So carefree, so happy, so-

The screen turned black. Next to him, Dick slammed the remote onto the cushion beside him, “None of this shit. If we’re talking about this, you're giving it your full attention, no deflections or distractions.” 

“Fine, you want direct, how’s this, you  _ let  _ him kill you.” That… came out wrong, “I just- you’re supposed to fight. Nightwing  _ fights,  _ he doesn’t just take it.”

Jason’s expecting Dick to yell at him, to throw his own death back at him, but not…. _ not this.  _ He just starts laughing. It’s this low, scathing chuckle. It says  _ I know something you don’t know.  _

“Jay, whatever you're thinking,  _ whoever  _ you’re thinking about, it’s not me. This-” He mulls over his words, all traces of mirth gone from his voice, “This ‘idealization’ it’s on  _ you _ . This version of me, it’s not my fucking job to live up to this expectation you have of me. So don’t throw around  _ shit  _ you don’t know anything about.” 

Fine, Jason thinks, two can play at this game. They glare at each other, comically shoving themselves the furthest they can get away on the couch, Dick still half out of shirt and Jason clutching onto the used bandages.

“You want to talk about ‘expectations’, how about the fucking dark protector Batman is supposed to be, huh? Or is that another ‘idealization’?” He snaps, throwing Dick’s words back at his face.

“Dammit, Jason! Why does it always come back to B for you.” 

Jason freezes. Dick didn’t know that they’d seen that too, didn’t know they’d hacked into a file with his deepest secrets. So, the hell was he talking about now?

“I get it, I do. Did I  _ fail _ at filling in as Batman? Did I fuck with his image? Do you think I don’t know that? But, I had to be what _ Gotham _ needed instead of what _ I  _ needed. Thanks for the reminder, though, maybe you can fuck it up next time, or we can give Tim a shot, huh? I’ll try harder next time.”

He wants to give some witty retort back, but all he can think about is how he’d fucked up again. Why did Dick have to make everything a pity party? He may not have been the perfect Batman, but he’d done things Bruce couldn’t. He worked with the police and established actual connections; he’d tamed the Demon Brat and managed to, well, contain Jason’s rampages across the cities. He knew this, right? 

Dick was still ranting, “And, as a matter of fact, I didn’t  _ let  _ Luthor kill me, I couldn’t stop it- no one could- I just wanted B  _ out.  _ I’m tired of people- of friends- dying for me.”

His eyes flickered toward his wall of images.  His apartment was haunted by his dead friends and their frozen smiles, many of them having died so young they weren’t even around for Jason to meet. 

The anger drained from Dick’s body, and he slumped forward, his hands fiddling with the ties of his sweats. 

“I just-” He started again, sad eyes catching onto Jason’s, “Everyone who’s loved me has died, changed their mind, or done both- in varying orders. And you know what, I’m glad you did the third because I  _ can’t  _ go to another fucking funeral. So if hating me means you break the chain, then hate me all you want.”

“I don’t hate you, Dickie.” Jason spoke softly. This  _ wasn’t  _ the conversation he was here to have; he hadn’t come here expecting to be this fucking emotional. At Dick’s amused glance, he spoke again, “I couldn’t hate you, big brother. None of what I did was supposed to hurt you; it’s always been Bruce, okay? He’s raising kids who won’t come home once they get out. He  _ let  _ me die and smacked you around after you did.” 

Dick glances up sharply and then deflates. If only Jason could tell what he was thinking, but even without knowing he can, he can tell Dick’s resigned himself to his brothers knowing about that. 

“It’s not what you're thinking, Gotham doesn’t pull her punches, so why should Bruce?” 

Jason just laughs, “Fuck, man, he’s really got your head turned around,  _ that’s child abuse.”  _

It’s not like he expected Dick to just change his mind, but he doesn’t expect him to shake his head and vehemently deny the accusation. 

“No, no,” He’s placating as if Jason is one of those victims on the streets. “It’s not like that at all, okay? First of all, it’s not like that. He was just… just making sure I could handle the mission after what Luthor did. And second, I’m not a kid; it’s not abuse.” 

“So if it was me, you'd be fine with it; I’m legally an adult too.”

“Of course not,” Dick replies, all matter of fact as if he’s not a massive fucking hypocrite, “I’d never let you  _ near  _ Bruce if you told me he hit one of you.” 

Quickly, Jason decided against trying to empathize with him, ‘cause if he told Dick about the whole Joker-Bruce-Jason ordeal, then he’d be out the window and halfway to Gotham before Jason could even blink.

“Why are you the exception?” He asks instead, “Why didn't you tell one of us?”

Tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling, eyes narrowed at a suspicious-looking stain; Dick lets out a sigh, lips curling into a gentle frown, “I just-  realizing you don't have to tell anyone anything about yourself or your life is…. A very liberating feeling.”

It always comes back to Dick’s obsessive need for secrets. Fucking hell, Dick could only ever hate Bruce if he did something to one of his brothers. So, he changes directions again-

“But, what if it had been one of us instead?” 

“Excuse me?” Dick asks, tilting his head in Jason’s direction. 

“What if-” He reiterates, “He had hit one of us- beat us into going undercover? Should we have kept it secret?”

But Dick just laughs that same, irritating, dark laugh, “He’d never hit you guys. It was my fault, anyway.”

He can’t take it anymore, and Jason darts forward, shaking Dick’s shoulders as if it’ll knock some sense into him, “Stop  _ fucking  _ blaming yourself for shit.”

“And why not?” He challenges, staring darkly into Jason’s eyes, “It’s easier- quicker too. Because no matter what happens, no matter who did what, it’ll  _ always  _ be my fucking fault. Who cares if I’m just arriving at the conclusion faster than anyone else.” 

There’s no way to respond to that, nothing he could say after such a soul-baring statement, so he tugs Dick into his chest, clinging onto him in a desperate hug, ignoring the way Dick makes a startles noise. And then he relaxes, molding into Jason’s hug the way a child does- the way someone who hasn’t been hugged in a _ very  _ long time does. And there's a difference between giving a hug and receiving one, a special kind of emotional release only achieved through others offering comfort willingly. 

It scares Jason, the way Dick grips the back of his shirt like Jason will disappear at any moment. Jason makes this cooing noise, so soft he almost doesn’t think it came from him, but he makes it, and then he reaches a hesitant hand up to run through Dick’s hair- he vaguely remembers his mom doing this to him when he was very, very young. 

“I’m sorry.” Comes Dick’s voice, muffled from where it’s buried in the hug. Inwardly, Jason sighs, damn Dick’s inability to not make things his fault. But he can’t say that, can’t ruin the calm that’s settled over the room. Instead- 

“For what?” Jason murmurs, very carefully keeping his voice this strange soothing intonation. 

Dick tilts his head back, chin digging uncomfortably into Jason’s chest, “For not telling you.”

Jason keeps running his hand through his brother’s hair, trying to convey what he deems impossible to say, ‘ _ It’s not your fault Dickie, don’t blame yourself, stop adding weight on your shoulders.’  _ He’s always been lousy at this, at the emotional conversations, but he thinks he’s doing alright. It’s odd, he thinks, to use hands meant for violence to do something so gentle. He wonders if this is how Dick feels all the time. It’s a nice feeling, one he wants to get better at. 

“I’m not mad,” He finds himself saying, “I’m worried, it’s not good to bottle things up Dickie. You have to tell someone.”

But Jason has no room to talk about coping strategies; he’s always found his comfort in a cigarette and a loaded gun. Plus, he knows what Dick does, having read the journal entries hidden beneath Dick’s bed.

It was a couple of months after his  supposed  real death when Jason was going through Dick’s things that he unearthed those books. They were part of some therapy that Dinah Lance had prescribed, and Dick kept up for about six months before quitting against her advice. Most of it was gibberish that Jason lacked all context for, but he remembers the dog-eared page that caught his attention. 

_ June 17, 2016-  _ it read, 

_ I keep calling Donna’s number, expecting her to answer. It’s fucked up, but it brings me comfort to dial her and pretend she’s gonna answer it. Sometimes, early in the morning, there’s this moment where I forget everything that’s happened, and I try to soak it up, I do, but then I roll over, and the other side’s untouched and hits me all the sudden, that Wally and Donna and Jason are dead. It took four fucking months for the world to take half my family. Four fucking months for them to die one after another. Feels like dominoes in a way, and I can’t help but think who’s next- my money’s on Roy, he’s the only person I’ve got left anyways. God, my phonebook feels like it’s full of obituaries, and more often than not, the number I call never picks up because sometimes a dead girl’s voice promising to get back to you is more comforting than anything anyone else could say. It felt like a game before, all of us playing at heroes in a world with no real consequences, but somewhere along the way, playing video games with friends turned into fighting a never-ending war and the controllers in our hands became loaded guns. Pixels on a screen turned into my best friends, but by that point, I was in too deep- and there was no title screen or restart button because children can never make it out of war. They die, or they break, and I may have chosen the latter and came out of it alive, but I still think the dead got the better deal. I can’t help but envy them, in a way, ‘cause they're at rest, but I’m still stuck fighting.  _

There was more, way more, but Jason couldn’t bring himself to read anymore at the time. It felt too invasive to read a dead man's thoughts, so he just shoved them all back under the bed and tried to pretend they weren’t there- tried to pretend the only thing he learned from that was that if vigilante business didn’t work out, Dick could’ve been a writer instead. 

“The dead don’t make good therapists, Dickie. They can hold a secret real well, but lightening your soul doesn’t lighten your brain. Why haven’t you talked to Canary?”

Dick pulls back, eyebrows furrowing in a way that’s more questioning and less angry, “The hell am I supposed to say? Her dad was a cop; she’d never get it. It’s my fault anyway for playing with the switch.”

“The fuck does that mean?” 

“Well,” Dick starts, twisting so he’s leaning against Jason with his face turned away, “It’s like a light switch. Kids always try to find the exact balance, the middle of light and dark, but they don’t know that there is no middle.”

Jason hadn’t been young enough to play those sorts of games when he moved into the manor, and when he was that young, well, they didn’t have electricity most of the time anyway, “That clears up nothing, what’s that supposed to do with Bruce hitting you.”

He doesn’t have to see Dick’s face to know the man is grimacing, “Bruce is like that, only instead of light, it’s his emotions. You have to find the middle ground between his apathy and his anger, but you get so caught up in the game you forget there is no middle. You have to make him feel, but if you push the switch too far then fists start flying.”

Jason bit his tongue, holding back from pointing out that Dick was kinda like that too- People would fall for his sunshine act but if they pushed him far enough, they’d be on the ground before they could blink. 

“Maybe,” Jason hedges, “You should stop playing with the switch.”

For a second, his face contorts- anger and frustration and hurt and everything he’d usually keep hidden clouding it- but by the time he turns, it’s gone, just a mask of annoyance in place instead. That felt almost worse than anger, Jason had experience with Dick’s brand of hot fire, but he never knew just where he stood when Dick shut down like this, it was his own passive-aggressive form of psychological torture.

“C’mon, Dick. You're smart, haven’t you ever thought that enough is enough?”

He gets a tight-lipped smile in response, “I think that no matter the thoughts I have, I always need to do right by the people that need me.”

By this point, they both know shits getting ugly, and muscle memory has them moved across the couch again, Dick perched on the arm of it and Jason a second away from bolting to the other side of the room.

“At some point, you're going to snap, Goldie. There’s no much shit it won’t fit under the rug and you’ll let bygones go by until you _ can’t  _ fucking run from it anymore.” 

. Dick’s heaving, a combination of his anger and the constant jostling of his unchecked ribs, “I can ignore  _ everything  _ if it means I’m by my family’s side, and I’ll do it until I’m dead! Because that’s what you do for family, you let things fucking  _ go _ .”

“Don’t turn this into some fucking martyr shit; this only hurts you. You’re not a martyr if you let it happen, you're just aiding in your own abuse.”

Dick recoils, “Doesn’t hurt?” He questions with a laugh, “This family is the most painful thing in my life. It’s destroying each and every one of us, but you always throw that shit on me, because I’m never enough. And you can’t tear yourself away from you fucking crime-fighting agendas long enough to notice it’s killing me, so if being the best fucking soldier I can be is what it takes to keep my place in this family, then I’m willing to let anything happen if it doesn’t threaten that.”

Jason can’t do anything but gape at him, unable to deny the accusations but so unwilling to believe them completely. Taking in his silence with those glittering broken eyes, he gives a harsh bark of laughter before continuing, “Bruce loves us okay, we just have to give a little to get it, and if I have to pay with a few hits, then I’m willing to let it happen.”

“It’s not fucking love!” He shouts, speaking louder to cover Dick’s protests as he continues, “If it is love, then it’s fish love, okay? Men don’t mean they love fish when they say it, because they’ve just taken it out of the water, killed it, and boiled it. They can’t love something they're willing to hurt; they love them because doing this makes them feel good. Most people love someone because that person fulfills their physical and emotional needs; it fills the void in their heart, which is still selfish in their own way. And Bruce? He loves you because of how much you give. In real love, you don’t think what can I gain from them; you're supposed to think what can I give them.”

Dick is frozen, mulling over what Jason said and then trying to apply it to his fifteen years with Bruce. Jason knows the feeling; he’d done the exact same thing when he first heard this. 

Hesitantly, he speaks again, “Bruce is a good Batman, but being a good partner is different than being a good parent.”

“He’s good to Damian.” Is all Dick can bite back with, unable to meet Jason’s eye contact and staring somewhere over the man’s shoulder instead. 

Holding back an eye-roll, Jason says, “Being good to one kid doesn’t make you a good parent, it just means you value one more than the rest.”

Dick’s all but melted into the couch, pressing back so far he’s sinking into the crack between the armrest and cushion. 

And then Jason says something that he regrets instantly.

“What I don’t get is why you’d run away after knowing how he is. How could you leave that man alone with a bunch of kids you know wouldn’t hit back if he went after them instead?”

The pure, predatory look on Dick’s face makes Jason instantly sympathize with prey everywhere because seeing such danger in someone’s eyes is both terrifying and captivating, “Are you seriously going to tell me that after that, after that whole talk about not coming back to the man who beat me, that you wish I’d gone back just so you wouldn’t have to be a big brother for once in your life?”

He opens his mouth to argue back, but Dick steamrolls over him, “You’re death meant something to him, but he couldn’t let me come to terms with my own mortality before beating me out of the country. And you know what, I know that I’ll never be enough, I’ve given up on ever being fucking enough for him- because you can scream about being replaced by Tim after you  _ died,  _ but I’ve been replaced four times, and the mantle wasn’t even open when you guys took it, I was right fucking there. It’s taken me seven years to realize it, but Robin’s don’t matter to him, we're just stepping stones on his path to justice.”

As Dick stops to catch his breath, jaw clenching as he does, Jason gathers himself enough to interrupt, “ _ Enough _ ? You're practically the only thing the man will ever consider enough. You're the Boy Wonder! The blueprint of child vigilantes everywhere, and all of us- from me to Steph to even Damian-  _ constantly  _ have to work to meet even a fraction of what Bruce considers you to be. Maybe you started out one of the greats, but you certainly aren’t one now. You’ve made too many mistakes to be the Robin we’ve heard about.”

“There it is again,” Dick growls, jolting to his feet to start doing laps around the room, “It always comes done to my fuck ups, doesn’t it. I’m never allowed to mess up or act out of line. If I get frustrated- or god forbid angry- I’m a terrible person. I can't show fear or emotion at all, or I’m a failure to my legacy and a mockery of a Batman. I can't be too funny, or I’m an obnoxious man-child, but if I’m too serious, I’m somehow a drill sergeant. Robin was too adult, Nightwing too jokey, Batman too soft- and Dick Grayson- well, he was just an all-around fuck up, wasn’t he?”

At this point, Jason’s neck is aching from the way he had to twist it to keep Dick in his eye line, “I always thought I was the angry Robin, but you’ve got quite the temper, haven’t you? Or maybe we just bring out the worst in each other, huh? Is that it? Do I make you angry,  _ Dick _ ? You’ve got no right to be mad; you died for a  _ minute _ , I was gone for-”

“Mad?” Dick laughs, smile gone far too wide and far too feral to be genuine, ”Of course I’m angry. I  _ get _ to be angry because no one gets mad for me. Do you know what happened after you died? He almost killed the Joker and sent more crooks to the hospital than ever.” He catches Jason’s horrified look and stalks towards him, “Didn’t know that, did you? Fucking Superman had to stop him- and you know what happened after I died? B shook hands with my killer not two days later. He fucking  _ congratulated _ him on his ‘business endeavors.’ And it’s not like Luthor didn’t know it was me- I was fucking unmasked. They made friendly conversation with the knowledge Luthor killed me. That's unforgivable.” He’s right in Jason’s face, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from smacking his brother away as he continues his tirade, “There was no  _ revenge _ , no _ rage _ \- I got shipped off to another country, and you guys didn’t do anything! You just _ let  _ me be dead. Tim traveled through fucking time and space to get Bruce; you guys went to Apokolips to bring Dami back! And I was just an ocean away. 

“And you know what- the family forgave you even after you reigned hell on Gotham- you fucking killed people and tried to kill Tim. I was just following orders, Bruce’s orders, and yet he gets off scot-free. Stephanie faked her death for years, but no one brings that up. Batman screwed her over so bad that she left the country! Was it only acceptable because you weren’t here for that? You were hardly there when I did it, anyways. You’ve been hell-bent on hating me since you came back! I’m sorry I wasn't there when you were Robin, I really am, but I was a teenager- so you can stop holding onto that grudge.”

Taking a moment to appreciate just how far this conversation has gotten away from him, Jason rolls out from under Dick’s leering and settles himself leaning on the wall behind. Maybe getting this out in the open would be good for them, would let old wounds and heal and shit. So instead of defusing the situation, he argues back-

“I _ needed  _ you, Dick. I was fucking thirteen, and you couldn’t find it within yourself to tolerate Bruce for five fucking minutes to meet me- I barely knew who you were for months! Did you just not care- is that it? Was I not worth knowing?”

“You can’t honestly blame me for not wanting to be buddies with you!” Dick shouts, shaking with barely restrained anger, “It took one meeting for you to get adopted, and you hit Bruce with a tire iron. He raised me, for  _ eight _ years, and not only was I not adopted- and he expressed clearly and frequently that our relationship would be done once I aged out- but I was  _ kicked _ out. I had no money, no home, and  _ no _ family. And Bruce had no responsibility to provide me with anything because past eighteen, it would be like we never had any relationship at all. See, the difference between adoption and fostering may be giant, but it's nothing compared to being a ward of the courts. When you’re a ward, you don’t call your people parents or temporary parents; they’re called Guardians- which is fucking bullshit.

“So yeah, maybe I was jealous because you could call Bruce dad, and you knew Bruce would keep you once you became an adult. But at least you didn’t wake up every day for six years knowing he could send you back like you meant  _ nothing _ to him. I didn’t want to fucking know you because you got what I wanted- and now you cant even the appreciate the family you get to be apart of!”

As his yelling gets louder, Dick’s voice becomes so hoarse and emotional that if Jason didn’t know better, he’d think the man was crying- if he’s being honest, Jason kinda wants to start crying too. How could they have let things go so wrong? He knows Dick regrets it, having seen how hard the man tried to bond with Tim in the wake of Jason’s death, but it still fucking hurt, okay. Knowing that Dick had all this potential to be  _ family  _ and nothing but stolen weekends to Bludhaven behind Bruce’s back to show for it. 

He swallows, blinking against the sting in his eyes, “I didn’t know you felt like that- didn’t know you’d been kicked out at the time either- but you never tried to tell me anyways. Life gave us a second chance and wasted it, why didn’t you _ try _ ?”

“You ever think maybe the reason I wasn’t jumping at the first chance to bond with you post-resurrection is because the first thing you did was try to ruin my life. You bloodied my mantle and almost ruined Nightwing for me. My reputation was in  _ tatters _ because of your little murder spree. I went to New York because Bl üdhaven was fucking destroyed, and you decided to bring your temper tantrum there because the only fucking thought you had concerning me was about how you couldn’t  _ wait _ to destroy the only fucking thing I had left.” 

As they stare at each other, a precarious silence falls between them, broken only by the hitched sound of Dick’s breathing as he holds his tears at bay- Jason thinks he’s crying too at this point, but the horror at what Dick said has him too frozen to wipe them away. 

“Dick,” He whispers, “I’m so, so sorry for what I did- I never meant-” Jason pauses, knowing at the time he honestly meant to destroy the other man, “If I could take it back, I would, I promise.” 

His brother turns and dabs at his eyes with his shirt, “I need you to leave.” He whispers. 

Jasons stumbles forward, grasping onto the other man’s arms, “No, I’m over this family fucking leaving each other.”

Dick just tries to scramble out of his arms, but Jason tugs him in close and buries his nose in Dick’s curls. 

He’s waiting for Dick’s answer, but he doesn’t expect what the other man says, “Tell me-” He demands, voice rising into hysterics as Jason begins to rock him, which isn’t easy to do with a grown man, “Fucking tell me! Tell me how I can _ better _ \- I want to be better, I need to, I need to, I need to!”

Dick’s not quite sobbing, but he’s close, and this hug feels more desperate than the first, Jason tugging Dick in so close that it’s a marvel the man can even breathe. But Jason just murmurs into his hair, recycling the words Dick’s used hundreds of times to soothe the man. Even as Dick calms, Jason just keeps reassuring him. Dick  _ has  _ to know that Jason doesn’t blame him. He  _ has  _ to. Dick Grayson loved so much and got so little because you don’t demand love when you don’t expect it. 

Maneuvering to the couch, Jason falls back and lets Dick cling to him, cheek pressed into his stomach and body laying between his legs. He ignores the way the fabric under Dick’s head wets with tears and slips a hand around the back of the couch to grab his leather jacket where his phone and comm unit are. 

He’s only got one hand to type with, the other once again running through Dick’s hair- but can you blame Jason, that shit was distractingly soft- and he gives up on perfect spelling and just let’s autocorrect take the wheel. Waiting for Tim’s response, he fumbles for the remote and turns Dick’s stupid documentary back on.

In a stage whisper, he asks, “You doing a case on sea life, Goldie?”

Dick mumbles his response into Jason’s stomach, one eye squinting open to stare at the screen, “Wanted to watch anything that didn’t have people in it.” He’s quiet for another moment or so, before he half giggles and adds on, “Plus Lian filled up my DVR with her cartoons.”

Jason chuckles, checking his phone again for a response. Tim’s usually good about instant replies and only ghosts when he’s away from his phone. To save time, Jason flicks his comm on and checks that Dick isn’t listening. 

Surprisingly, Dick looks half asleep, and Jason uses the hand in his hair to tug Dick’s face into view.

“Feel good?” He asks, laughing. 

Dick’s response is less real English and really just a slur of unintelligible letters, but Jason’s pretty sure it was, “Feelssogood.”

With that, Dick’s head flops back down and after a moment or two, Jason presses the button for his comm. 

“Red Hood to Batcave, you there, RR?”

After a moment, it crackles, and he hears, “ _ This is RR- Hood don’t-” _

“Alrighty, Nightwing is uh-  _ resting,  _ you’ve talked to B right? ‘Cause if I have to, I might just hit him on N’s behalf.”

All at once, he hears Tim’s sigh of, “ _ Jesus, this is the open frequency.” _

And then-

_ “Tt- what’s father done to Grayson?” _


End file.
